Soldier
by UThnkUrFunny IThnkImAdorable
Summary: Teenchesters. Sam has always been a disappointment in his father's eyes. After a hunt gone wrong, will John ever look at his youngest the same again? Will Sam survive John's anger and beat-down? Limp!Sam Protective!Dean in the making
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Yes, I'm starting another story. This is a bit different than what I usually write, but it's still full of Limp Sam XD **

**I hope this story goes over well. I'm not sure about the quality of the writing, so if you think good or bad, please let me know.**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter one!  
**

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Sam was the disappointment. He knew that much. He could tell everything he trained with his brother, the way his dad was always beating down hard on him and always praising Dean.

Dean was out getting information about a local hunt at the moment. John was standing behind Sam, watching him. He told Sam to shoot the ten empty beer bottles off the fence. Sam had never gotten more than five. But he was ready today. He'd been practicing.

Sam leveled the gun and aimed at the first bottle. He fired and the bottle shattered. The same with the second, third, and forth.

But he completely missed the fifth. He froze for a second, waiting for his father to start belittling him, but it never comes.

Hoping his father had better hopes for the next five bottles, Sam aimed at the sixth and fired. It shattered, making the fifth one Sam hit. As he aimed at the seventh, he dearly hoped he'd hit it and make his father proud of him for once. He aimed and fired. Miss.

Sam's chest practically jolted. Two more bottles left to prove to his father that he _was_ improving. Sam's hand started to shake as he aimed at the ninth bottle. Not surprisingly, he missed.

Once bottle left. Sam could feel himself start to sweat. He willed his arm to stop shaking as he pointed his gun and aimed. He took a full fifteen seconds to aim, before he fired. It shattered.

"YES!" Sam yelled. Six bottles. That's the most he's ever gotten before! He turned around to look at his father, seeking his approval. Sam's smile fell when he all he saw was the familiar glare of disappointment. "Dad?" Sam said hesitantly. "Y-you saw that, right?"

John just shook his head. "You know, Dean was able to hit all of them by the time he was twelve." John sighed as he turned around and headed back to the car. "You're just wasting ammo at this point, Sam."

Sam just stood there. He gave a humorless laugh as tears welled in his eyes. "Of course," Sam whispered. "Not as good as your perfect soldier."

Sam quickly willed his tears away before running after his father. He placed the gun in the trunk and slammed it shut. _I'm never going to get Dad's approval, am I? _He opened the passenger door and slid in next to his father.

John pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the motel room. "Now listen, Sam. When we got and hunt this werewolf, I want you to keep guard and keep guard _only_. You see anything, you tell us. I don't want you trying to shoot it and end up killing me or your brother."

Sam flinched as the words hit home. He looked over at John in disbelief that he said that. Tears threatened to fall again, so Sam quickly turned to the window and concentrated on the passing trees, willing the tears to go away again. No need to give John anymore reason to wail on him.

---

When they got back, Dean was already there. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cold beer. He turned towards the door as it opened and his father and brother came in.

Dean smiled and got up. "So? How'd it go?"

"Could have been better," John growled.

Dean frowned. "How so?"

"Never mind that now. What do you got?"

Dean gave his father and brother questioning stares before grabbing the small pile of papers off the table. "I think the werewolf is this guy. Ted Newman. All the victims have been ex's."

"Ex's?" Sam asked.

"Ex-wives." Dean grabbed one of the papers and looked at it for a second before handing it to his dad. "Guy's remarried seven times. The only ex still alive was his last conquest, Jena Park. I think that'll be his target tonight."

John smiled and firmly clasped Dean's shoulder in approval. "Good job, Dean. Let's get ready. Nightfall's in an hour but none of the killings have happened until after eleven. So that leaves us with five hours to eat and prepare."

Sam and Dean both nodded before they went back to their room to prepare.

Sam was only half paying attention to what he was doing. He just couldn't get his father's approving look or the affectionate clasp of the shoulder out his head. And how they were both aimed at Dean. Dean did something right, like always, without change, and he got the approval and affection. Sam improved, but wasn't perfect. So he got disapproval and disappointment.

Sam tried to fantasize the approving look being aimed at him. Or the clasp of the shoulder being on his. Having him being worth something in his father's eyes. But Sam just couldn't muster up the image or feeling. He honestly didn't know what he would feel if either one of those were to happen. The last time his father showed him any affection was when he was eight years old, before he found out about the reality of his family and before his father expected him to be perfect, just like his brother.

"You okay, Sam?"

Sam jumped a little at the sudden break of silence. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean," he said a bit too quickly. He hurriedly went back to cleaning and preparing the guns.

Dean gave his brother a look before going back to looking through the first aide kit, making sure they had plenty of everything just in case. "So did training with Dad go?"

"It was fine," Sam mumbled, truly not wanting to talk about it.

"'Fine'?" Dean said incredulously. "You mean you and Dad had a training session with ripping each other's throats out?"

"I was the only one getting their throat ripped out," Sam unconsciously mumbled.

"What?" Dean said.

Sam blanched when he realized he said that out loud. "Nothing."

Dean stopped looking through his kit and went over and sat by his brother. "Seriously, Sam. What happened?"

Sam sighed. "The usual. Then at the end he wanted me to try do that shoot-ten-bottles-on-a-fence thing."

"And...?" Dean said.

Sam smiled bitterly. "I shot six."

Dean beamed. "What so wrong with that? You've never hit more than five! And five was a rare case!"

Sam shook his head. "Not good enough for Dad."

"Forget Dad," Dean scoffed. "It looks like you're improving!" Dean slapped a hand on Sam's back "All that practicing is finally paying off."

Sam smiled. No matter what, it seems, whatever their father couldn't provide, Dean could. Whether that be the material things, like clothes or school supplies, or simple gestures like this.

It still didn't dull the sting of their father's disapproval of him. But Sam was gratefully for it anyway.

John knocked the open door and Sam and Dean turned their heads. "Meet me by the car in five," John said. "We gotta eat good tonight if we wanna be in top shape for the wolf."

---

They ate at a buffet, Dean eating half of it (the greasy half), Sam eating the other half, and their father eating a mixture of both.

It was close to nine by the time they got back to the motel. It was an hour and a half drive to thier destination, so they all hurriedly packed their gear into the car and headed out.

"Do you boys remember what you're supposed to do?" John asked.

"Yes, sir," Dean said. He and his father were going to circle the house until Newman came. When he did, they'd take him out. John already laid out the best hiding spots and paths to take around the house so not to attract attention to themselves.

Sam stared out the window, not giving a response.

"Sam!" John barked.

Sam jumped in his seat and looked at his father.

"Do you remember what you're supposed to do?" John reiterated irritably.

_I want you to keep guard and keep guard _only_. You see anything, you tell us. I don't want you trying to shoot it and end up killing me or your brother._

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled, going back to stare out the window.

The rest of the trip was made in silence.

---

It was past midnight. John and Dean were at opposite sides of the house, moving to new hiding spots ever ten minutes. It was tiring but necessary. They couldn't miss a single thing.

Sam was sitting in the car, across the street from the house. Sam was keeping a look out, as he was told. If he saw anything, he was supposed to call either his father or brother and give them the heads up.

Sam sighed as he leaned back in the passenger seat. He felt so damn _useless._ His aim was good enough to at least help. Sam growled as he hit a fist against the seat. He stared at his phone before looking outside again.

And there it was.

Sam's heart leapt to his throat when he saw how close the werewolf was to the house. And Dean.

Sam started dialing his brother's cell when he stopped. The wolf was so close, that as soon as Dean's, or John's for that matter, cell went off, even on vibrate, would alert the wolf and it would probably attack either one of them on the spot before they knew what was happening.

Sam's mind scrambled for an idea. When he spotted a .45 on the floor. Sam didn't even wonder why it was there. He just grabbed it, got out of the car and ran across the street.

Apparently the werewolf heard Sam running, because it suddenly turned around and growled at Sam. Sam stopped midrun and quickly aimed the gun.

Dean heard the growl and flung his gun at the ready. When he saw the wolf, it was running towards the street. And straight at Sam!

"Hey!" Dean yelled as he fired.

The bullet imbedded itself into the wolf's shoulder, causing it to howl in agony and anger. It turned itself and snarled at Dean before going towards the older teen.

As the wolf ran away from Sam, Sam quickly aimed his gun at the wolf's back. _Please hit._ And fired.

Two shots rang out, and the wolf and Dean fell to the ground.

* * *

**So... **

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) Should I continue it?  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Okay, I guess I'm continuing.**

**Hmm... this is turning out to be a pretty interesting fic. I'm actually having a great time writing it.**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter two!  
**

**

* * *

**

"Dean!" John yelled. He ran up to his son's side and flipped him over onto his back. Dean's eyes were wide and glassy and confused looking. A deep red liquid started to spread from the side of his chest. "Dammit!" John cursed. He shed his jacket off and applied pressure to the bullet wound.

"Oh my god..."

John looked up at his other son, who stood a few feet away, his pale pallor and sudden breakout of sweat telling signs of shock. Sam stared wide-eyed at his brother's form, tears smarting his eyes at the sight.

"Don't just stand there!" John yelled. "Call an ambulance!" John wanted to say so much more to his youngest, but that had to wait until Dean's condition was dealt with.

Sam shakily nodded and pulled out his cell. He fumbled with the buttons, but managed to punch 911.

As Sam talked to the operator, John continued to press down hard on Dean's side. "C'mon boy... you can beat this!" he whispered.

Dean's eyes started to slowly close, making John bark an order to stay awake. It worked the first few times, but by the time the ambulance approached the scene, Dean couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

---

John was in the restroom, washing the blood off his hands. Dean was in surgery and Sam was getting treated for his shock. They had optimistic views about Dean's condition, but John wouldn't relax until Dean was in the clear. As soon as he was, he was going to have a few choice words with his youngest.

John had heard the werewolf growl and had quickly ran to the other side of the house where it came from. He assumed Sam had called Dean about the approaching wolf, but when he rounded the corner of the house and saw the werewolf charging at Dean, he realized he assumed wrong. John immediately aimed for the wolf and fired. Another shot rang out at the same time and Dean fell.

Sam had shot his brother.

John splashed water on his face and sighed in frustration. He gave Sam those orders for a reason. John knew Sam's aiming wasn't good enough to hunt for the werewolf, but Sam could have still kept guard, which is why John ordered Sam not to have a gun and keep an eye out and let them know when the wolf came near. It looks like Sam went against both orders.

He wiped his hands and face off with paper towels and went back to the hospital room Sam was at. Sam was sitting on the bed, his knees drawn up and his head hidden.

John sat in the hospital chair next to the bed. "Sam," John said, trying to keep his temper in check. "What happened?"

Sam remained in his position, showing no signs of hearing his father.

"Sam!"

Sam jerked his head up. His face was tear-streaked, his eyes puffy and red, and he was slightly trembling.

"What... happened...?" John growled.

Sam sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Th-the wolf was n-near Dean an' the house. If I-I called either of you, it woulda alerted the w-werewolf. S-so I grabbed a .45 and r-ran after it."

"How did it even get so close to the house without you knowing, Sam?" John barked. "What the hell were you doing?!"

"I-I was watching!" Sam insisted. "I just... I-I don't know!" Sam shook his head, confused and upset about the situation.

John bit his lip in anger. "God damn it, boy... You realize you could have killed your brother, right?!" John yelled. "What the _hell_ were you thinking!?"

"I was trying to protect him!" Sam yelled back, anger at his father's accusation getting the best of him. "What? You think I should have just sat there and let it attack Dean, unawares?!"

"You should have been keeping watch...!" John growled.

"I did!" It was Sam's turn to growl in frustration. "I did the best I could!"

"If this is your best, then we're not gonna survive beyond your fifteenth birthday!"

Sam flinched. His eyes darkened, taking on a look of anger. But in fact, protecting the fact that the words hit Sam worse than any bullet. "Whatever," Sam whispered.

John rolled his eyes. He was really starting to hate Sam's teenage years.

---

A few hours later, a thin, pepper-haired doctor walked in. "Mr. Jackson?"

"John," the eldest Winchester said, offering his hand.

The doctor took it. "I'm Dr. Evan Thergoode. I was the head surgeon of your other son's operation."

"And?" John asked impatiently.

"Dean's going to be fine. Besides the blood loss, the bullet did little damage. It grazed a lung, however we were able to suture it no problem. He's very lucky. Now, I'm going to subscribe him some painkillers. He shouldn't do any strenuous activities for for about six weeks or so."

"Alright," John said. "How soon can we leave?"

"I want to keep him for 24 hours, just to make sure there's no infections or problems with the sutures."

John nodded in agreement.

Sam sagged on the bed in relief. He didn't kill his brother. In fact, Dean seemed to have suffered limited damage. Sam buried his face in his hands, tears of relief leaking out. Dean was okay. Dean was _okay...!_

"You can see him if you like," Dr. Thergoode offered.

---

Dean gave a dopey smile when he saw his dad and brother come into his room. "'Ey, guys!" Dean raised a hand in the air. "Doctor's got me flyin' here!" Dean giggled.

"I can see that," John smiled. He took the chair closest to the bed and sat down.

Dean frowned. "Sammy, why ain't you comin' in?"

Sam stood stiff in the doorway. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to run up and hug Dean for all it was worth, chick flicks or not. He almost lost his brother today! Damn the chick flicks! But Sam didn't run up and hug him. He was too frightened of his father's reaction to such an act.

Dean smiled and indicated the side his father wasn't sitting on. "C'mere."

Sam gave a small smile and walked up to Dean's side. He took Dean's hand in his own and held it tight. "We were worried, man!" Sam laughed nervously.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah... Wh-what happened?"

John sat up straighter and Sam's smile fell. "What do you remember?" John asked.

"Driving towards the house... We're we in an accident?"

Sam's stomach turned cold. How would Dean react when he found out that his own brother shot him?

John shook his head. "No. We were hunting that werewolf."

Dean looked down at his side. "Werewolves packing now?"

Tears sprung to Sam's eyes as he carefully set Dean's hand back down on the bed, breaking the contact between them. For some reason, Sam suddenly felt very _dirty_... and didn't think touching his brother was the best thing to do right now.

Dean frowned at the action. "Sam?"

John sighed. "Sam and I both shot the werewolf at the same time. Unfortunately, Sam missed."

Dean made a silent 'oh' with his mouth in realization. Dean quickly turned his head towards his brother and said, "Not your fault, Sammy."

A single tear fell down Sam's face as he shook his head. "Didn't follow Dad's orders," he mumbled. "I almost got you _killed..._!"

"I'm fine," Dean insisted. "No one hits the target every single time."

"Your brother's never been able to hit the target _ten_ times!" John exclaimed.

"Dad...!" Dean said.

"No, Dean! He could have killed you. From now on, I need to be harder on you," he said to Sam. "I'm going to start some hardcore training on you, because obviously, the normal training's not good enough. From now on, you do as I say, when I say it. If you don't, I'll belt you. Understood?"

Sam swallowed hard. He had never seen his father like this before. John was looking at Sam through cold eyes. There was no hint of warmth or compassion. He didn't see Sam as a son at all anymore. Now he was just a soldier. A soldier that failed. Sam held his tears back as he stood straight and schooled his features, determined not to show his father any weakness.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

**So... **

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2)I'm not sure about the direction I'm taking the story, so make sure to let me know what you think about that too.  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, this is turning out to be a very DIFFICULT story to write. So really tell me EVERYTHING! I'm really uncertain about how it's written and where it's going. All feedback with be MOST appreciated!  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter three!  
**

**

* * *

**

Over the next couple of days, Dean remained doped by the doctors to help him with the pain, (no matter how much Dean protested to it and insisted he was fine). As he was eased off and he completely realized what his father had said before, he knew he had to have a good one-on-one with his father.

Sam spent most of his time with his brother. He only went back to the motel when his father ordered him to, which was becoming more and more frequent as Dean got better. The sting of rejection from his father, usually numbed by his brother's reassurance, dug deep into his chest every time John refused to drive Sam home and insisted he take a taxi instead.

It was late at night, but Dean had had enough of sleeping from all the drugs. John had sent Sam home a few hours ago and Dean was determined to have a good talking to with his father.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"I think you're being a bit harsh with Sam."

"He needs his rest and I know _neither_ of you will get it here with him hovering over you."

Dean bit his lip in disagreement, but that's not what he brought the subject up for. "I'm talking about your insistence on harder training."

John paused mid-sip of his decaf coffee. He carefully set the cup down and said, "I know what I'm doing, Dean. And I know that Sam needs tougher training if he's ever going to improve."

"He _is _improving!" Dean insisted. "It's not fast, but he is."

John shook his head. "That's my point. If he doesn't hurry up and get into shape, he might actual kill one of us."

"This was an accident!" Dean said pointing to his side. "A one in a million chance of ever happening again."

"Then there's still a chance. And its those kind of odds that get people killed. 'Oh, not _that_ many people die driving while drunk! I should try it too!'"

Dean sighed, knowing only certain logic will break through his father's stubbornness. "If you keep pushing him, in the end he'll probably just straight out reject you and everything you put on him. And in the end, he may end up hating you."

"I think you're being a little melodramatic. But even so, at least we'll all be alive," John pointed out.

Dean shook his head, now certain that his father couldn't be swayed. "So when we starting this training?"

John raised an eyebrow. "'We'?"

"Yeah... we."

John shook his head. "Just Sam. I'm dropping you off at Pastor Jim's to recover."

"What?!" Dean yelled. "Hell, no! I'm fine!"

"A bullet wound is nothing to mess around with," John scolded. "It takes approximately six weeks for a wound like that to completely heal. Pastor Jim knows his stuff, so we're signing out of here AMA tomorrow and heading out. You'll stay with him and do certain strengthening exercises and research."

Dean groaned at the prospect of six weeks of doing nothing but research.

"Hey," John said. "The more you know, the better off you'll be in the long run."

"What about you and Sam?"

"We'll head out to that cabin in the mountains over East."

"What?! You'll be, like, an hour and a half away! And it's so isolated over there! There's not an ounce of civilization within a twenty mile radius of that cabin -- !"

"Exactly. It'll do Sam some good."

"What if one of you gets hurt? And it's serious? How would you get to a hospital in time?"

"There's enough supplies there to administer first aid and take care of anything that isn't life threatening -- "

"What if there _was_ something life threatening!?"

"Dean, that's enough! Your brother and I'll be fine. As long as Sam does as I say, no one should get hurt."

Dean slumped his shoulders. There was absolutely nothing he could do at this point to sway his father, no matter what the argument. Dean just prayed to god that nothing serious would happen.

---

As promised, they all left the next day, headed to Blue Earth, Minnesota. Dean constantly glanced back at his brother in the back seat. Sam was unusually quiet, staring out the window lost in his own thoughts. Dean sighed. He knew this 'tougher' training was going to be a bad idea. Sam always worked better with encouragement, a carrot so to speak. No way John was going down that route. Dean knew that his father's regime would be mostly 'my way or the highway.' Dean looked back at his brother. No matter how much Dean insisted that the hunt was in no way Sam's fault, Sam didn't seem to cheer up at all. Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool window. He would talk to his brother alone before they went off to the cabin.

Sam stared out the window, watching the fields of corn whizzing by, many of them already sowed. His mind was wondering over the last several days. Particularly the hunt. He ran the events over and over in his head, trying to figure out when it all turned so _wrong_. How did he miss the werewolf getting the close in the first place? What was the gun doing on the floor there, anyway?

He didn't bother wondering how he missed. Being only to shoot six out of ten bottles off a fence _once_ was enough of an explanation. His father was right. He did need more training.

Sam took a quick glance at his brother. Although Dean tried to hide it, Sam could tell his side bothered him. Whether it was just discomfort or pain, or both, he didn't know. But it didn't matter, because each grimace and obvious plastering of his neutral mask stabbed Sam with guilt. The youngest Winchester bit his lip. He was determined now. It wasn't just to get his father's approval anymore. He had to improve on his skills if he wasn't going to kill his family on hunts. Because in the end, if he wasn't good enough, they'll probably leave him behind.

And that was Sam's greatest fear. If John thought Sam just couldn't take it, that he was more of a liability than a help, he'd leave Sam at Pastor Jim's to live a grow up there. Without his family. When Dean wasn't around, John had hinted at it more than once. After each time, Sam doubled his training efforts. But apparently, they haven't been enough so far.

So, from now one, Sam was going to do exactly what his father says. He'll follow orders and be the perfect soldier.

---

Pastor Jim placed a smile on his face as the Winchesters walked in. Though in all honesty, it was taking a lot of willpower to do so. All three Winchesters looked awful. John looked tired and much older than his middle-aged 40s. Dean looked just a little sickly and uncoordinated, which was to be expected from his injury. However, Sam looked the worst. He was pale and lethargic. It looked as though he hadn't slept in days. And also neglected to pay attention to personal hygiene.

"We're just here to drop off Dean," John said.

"Well, why don't you stay for at least stay for a drink. Knowing you, you've probably driven straight here without any real breaks." John grunted in response. Jim led John into the kitchen for a coffee and quick chat.

Dean seized the opportunity and wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Let's go get some man-time in, brother!"

"Man-time?" Sam said disbelievingly, though the smile belied his humor. "You just think of that now?"

"Shut up." Dean led Sam to the living room. "Seriously, Sam. I need to talk to you before you leave with Dad."

Sam's shoulders slumped as the cloud that had been following him the last few days came back. "Dean..."

"Sam, I need to make sure a few things are clear. First off, you know that what happen on the hunt wasn't your fault, right?"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh. "For the millionth time, yes."

Dean glared at Sam. "Yeah, well I know you. And I can tell you're lying."

Sam just stared at his hands, jutting his jaw forward and back. "Is that all, Dean?"

"No. I just wanted to tell you... hold out, okay. I know Dad's gonna be tough on you. Just hold out until I get better, then things'll go back to the way they were before."

Sam scoffed. He was hoping things _won't _be like they were before. Before Sam was the wimp, the disappointment, the _burden_. Now he had a chance to change that. If he was good enough, maybe he wouldn't be such a screw up. Then he wouldn't be a liability to his family and end up getting them killed. And then maybe, just maybe, his father would look down at _him_ like he was worth something. Like he was _glad _to have him as a son.

Just then, John walked in and tapped the wall to get his son's attention. "Get in the car, Sam. We're leaving."

Sam slowly got up and walked back to the car, readying himself for another hour or two of riding in a car, and for inevitable training at the other end.

Dean trailed behind Sam until he shut himself in the car. Dean tapped the window and Sam rolled it down. "Just hold out. Call me if you need anything."

Sam gave a curt nod as John slid into the driver's seat. He didn't want to show how much he was going to miss his big brother, especially in front of his father. No reason to give him more ammo to beat Sam with.

Knowing there was nothing else he could do, Dean looked over at his father and said, "Take care of him, Dad." Then he stood straight and watched as John turned on the ignition and drove off.

* * *

**So... **

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I'm not sure about the direction I'm taking the story, so make sure to let me know what you think about that too.**

**3) And as I said before, I'm not sure I'm doing all that well writing it. This is actually a really hard story to write. So PLEASE tell me EVERYTHING in your mind!!  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, this is turning out to be a very DIFFICULT story to write. So really tell me EVERYTHING! I'm really uncertain about how it's written and where it's going. All feedback with be MOST appreciated!**

***Sigh...* it seems that people are REALLY enjoying this story, though I can't see why... well anyway...  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter four!**

**

* * *

**  
There was a strained silence in the car all the way to the cabin. It was about two in the afternoon when they arrived. John and Sam both got their bags out and went inside.

"Hurry up and unpack," John ordered. "I want you down here in ten minutes so we can start training."

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled.

"What was that?" John glowered.

"Yes, sir!" Sam said more loudly than necessary. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Sam quickly dragged his bag to his room and started to unpack. He was starting to dread the training, even though he knew it was necessary. He knew his father wouldn't go easy on him at all and he knew that he was going to totally suck at first.

But it was necessary.

Ten minutes later, Sam came down with his knife and gun, thinking he might need it for training.

"Put those back," John said. "We're doing strict physical training today."

Sam stifled a groan as he walked back up and put his weapons away. If they were going to do strictly physical training, then no doubt Sam was going to be _miserable_ by the end of the day.

---

Sam ignored the burning in his legs and the uncomfortable pressure in his lungs as he ran around the cabin. He was going to prove to his father that he could do this.

All day it had been nothing but running, push-ups, sit-ups, and sparring with only the occasional five-minute rest period. It was roughly eight-thirty now. Half an hour ago, John ordered Sam to run five laps around the cabin (which was not a small structure), do fifty push-ups, then a hundred sit-ups, then to do it over and over until John said he could come in. John went inside and hadn't come back out.

Sam was on his second round, his entire body screaming at him. He felt like he needed a full-body heating pad. The sparring from earlier certainly didn't help. His father didn't pull any punches, leaving Sam with a black eye and a bruised ego when John started yelling at Sam about how his brother was so much at his age and how he should be the same.

The memory pushed Sam faster as he finished the fifth lap. Sam was so frustrated at how his father always relates it back to Dean. Dean could do this, and Dean could do that. Why can't you be more like Dean? Dean would never disappoint me like this...

Sam sagged. Maybe if he _was_ more like Dean, he wouldn't have screwed up the hunt and gotten Dean hurt. Sam held back tears as he got down on the hot asphalt and started to do the push ups. He was really starting to miss his brother right about now. At least when they trained together, he had the banter and Dean's smartass remarks to distract him. But then again, the reason Dean wasn't there was because Sam almost killed him and now he has to take a six week rest period to recover.

Some brother Sam was.

Sam's arms shook as he continued to do the push-ups. Sam didn't dare take a break, even for a second. If his father was watching him from inside and saw him stopping for any reason, then John would no doubt just berate him for not being able to hold his own.

Sam was almost done with the push-ups when his stomach growled. _Loudly_. Sam ignored it. Having not eaten any lunch and training all afternoon with only water as sustenance, Sam was starving. The mere thought of one of Dean's disgustingly greasy burgers was making Sam's mouth water.

Sam took a quick glance at his watch. Nine-seventeen now. Sam silently begged his father to come out and tell him he was done. His stomach felt like it was eating himself, he was so hungry. At this point he didn't know what was worse; the pain and aches radiating through his entire body, or the fact he was so ravenous he felt like he wouldn't mind eating grass. (If there was any grass there to eat)

John came out when Sam was in the middle of his third round, running around the cabin. "You can come in now, Sam."

Sam practically collapsed from relief. He made his way back to the cabin as quickly as his legs would carry him, the need not to anger his father and hunger keeping him going. He practically drooled on the floor when he walked in and the smell of spaghetti and meat sauce hit him. He temporarily ignored it to grab a glass of water and chug for all it was worth.

"Slow down, Sam, before you throw your guts up!"

Sam abruptly stopped chugging and nodded.

John gave an annoyed sigh as he took the glass from Sam. "Go upstairs and take a shower."

Sam nodded and head up the staircase.

"Once your done, recite the standard exorcism twenty-five times before you go to bed."

Sam froze and turned around. John was standing at the base of the stairs, glaring expectantly at Sam. Sam saw the kitchen table over his shoulder and saw a half-finished plate of spaghetti. He looked longingly at it.

"Sam!" John barked.

"Yes, sir," Sam said. He slowly turned and headed up to the bathroom. Tears prickled his eyes. This must be his father's way of punishing him for what happened on the last hunt. He slowly stripped himself, trying to ignore the aches and pains of his body, and stepped under the hot spray. His muscles started to relax and the pain abated a little. But it certainly didn't help his hunger.

Under the roar of the shower, Sam allowed himself to cry. He had been the disappointment, the weak link, the _burden_, and now he had to pay for it. Sam curled into a ball in the corner of the shower. Everything was so screwed up. And the only solution he could see was to become more like Dean. Or at least try to. In the end, it'd probably be best for everyone.

Sam's tears ran out before the water ran cold. He got out of the shower and quickly dried himself off. His father told him to recite a standard exorcism twenty-five times. Sam would comply, like Dean would.

He quickly got dressed in sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in and went into his room. He sat there and recited the exorcism twenty-five times flawlessly from memory. He was just in bed when John walked in.

"What are you doing? I told you to do the exorcism twenty-five times!"

"I did," Sam insisted.

"Yeah right. No one could do it that fast. And I doubt you did it perfectly."

"I did!" Sam yelled. "Just because you weren't there to see it...!"

"Don't argue with me!" John barked. "I will _not_ have you disobeying me _again!_"

Sam flinched at his fathers words. Remembering his earlier vow to himself, Sam got out of bed and stood at attention before his father. "_Exorsizamus te..._"

"_ExorCIzamus te_..." John corrected.

Sam ground his teeth. His mouth felt tongue-tied from saying the same thing over and over again twenty-five times already. Sam cleared his throat of imaginary phlegm and started again. "_ExorCIzamus te, omnis immoondus spiri -- "_

"_Immundus_, Sam." John shook his head. "Yeah," he scoffed. "You did it twenty-five times already."

Sam started to shake. He didn't know why, but he was. "_ExorCIzamus te, omnis imMUndus spiritus, omnis incursi -- "_

"You forgot_ omnis satanica potestas_. Do you need a copy to look at?" John asked, obviously annoyed.

"No," Sam growled. He took a deep breath, and started to recite it slowly so not to miss anything. "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..._"

Sam continued until he was done, no errors. Sam smiled as he looked at his father.

"Great," John said sarcastically. "It only took you four tries!"

"I had already done it before..." Sam pointed out.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah right." He sighed. There was a few moments of silence before he shouted, "What are you waiting for! You've twenty-four times to go!"

By the time Sam was done, it was almost one in the morning. Sam was swaying on his feet and he felt like death warmed-up.

"You can go to bed now," John said, not seeming tired at all. "I want you ready by five to continue training."

Sam stared at his father incredulously. "Dad...!"

"For god's sake, Sam, what?!"

Sam stood there for a second, his vision blurry from exhaustion, his feet swelling and his body aching from the day's training and standing still at attention for the last three hours. John glared at his son, practically begging Sam to give him a reason to go harder on him.

Sam sagged and said, "Nothing."

John shrugged and left the room. No 'goodnight', no 'good job today', nothing. Sam fell back onto his bed, a single tear fell down his face before he fell almost instantly asleep.

* * *

**So... **

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) There's a semi-good reason why John's acting like this, so please bare through it for a little bit.  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, this is turning out to be a very DIFFICULT story to write. So really tell me EVERYTHING! I'm really uncertain about how it's written and where it's going. All feedback with be MOST appreciated!**

***Sigh...* it seems that people are REALLY enjoying this story, though I can't see why... well anyway...  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter five!**

**

* * *

**  
Dean hung the phone up, still worried about how this new training might be affecting Sam.

He just got off the phone with his father, who said that Sam was asleep. Again.

It has been two weeks now. Dean was able to have a few short conversations over the phone with his brother, (mostly consisting of 'hello, you good?, goodbye') but it seems that more and more, Sam was asleep when Dean called. The last few days, it's been John picking up the phone instead.

From what Dean had been able to suss out, the training has been pretty much the same as usual, just a bit more intense. But Dean knew how hard the normal training was and was out of breath just thinking about the new training. No wonder Sam's so tired.

"How are they?" Jim asked.

"Sam was asleep again," Dean said. He tapped his fingers furiously against the telephone table. "Jim, can't I go up to the cabin with them now?"

"Absolutely not. It's only been two weeks..."

"I feel fine! The bullet wound's almost healed...!"

"The key word in that sentence is 'almost.'"

"I'm well enough to train! Or, why can't I just go up there and _be_ with them."

Jim chuckled. "Because we know you too well. You see your father training and you jump right in, completely ignoring your own health. It's best not to let you do that until you're completely healed."

Dean sighed. "I'm just so _bored_ doing nothing but research. And I'm sure Dad and Sam need a buffer right about now. I'm surprised they haven't ripped each other's heads off."

Jim smiled. "It's okay to admit you're worried about them."

Dean huffed. "I'm not worried as much about Dad as I am about Sam. I know he still blames himself for this." Dean pointed to his side. "And I'm sure this six-week rest period you guys are forcing me to have isn't helping."

"The rest period is necessary. You'll be seeing Sam soon enough and you can still talk to him over the phone."

"As long as he isn't sleeping," Dean muttered.

---

Sam was leaning against a tree, taking a quick breather. He looked at his watch. His father wanted him to be back at the cabin in eight minutes. Sam still had nearly two miles to go. Taking a deep breath, he continued to run.

These last two weeks have been a living hell. The training was getting harder and harder each day. Sam was only able to get a few hours of sleep after hours of reciting rituals, and he only got the occasional meal. And Sam accepted all of this without complaint. If this is what it took to get him more like Dean, then so be it.

John was getting more and more irritable and harsh as well. He started to physically strike Sam if he did something out of line or inadequately. But that was alright, because frankly, Sam was doing awfully in his training. He wasn't doing nearly as well as Dean does, in fact, he seemed to be getting worse.

Sam looked at his watch again. Two minutes pass his father's check point. Sam sped up, even though he was already late. The sooner he got there, the better.

John had his arms crossed, leaning against a tree when Sam finally finished. Sam collapsed to his knees, taking deep wheezy breathes. His legs were on fire, and for some reason his jaw and ears hurt like hell.

"About fucking time," John growled. He stood up and started walking back to the cabin. "C'mon! Let's get your lazy ass going!"

Sam bit back a moan as he stood back up. He stood still for a second as the world started to spin and black out on him. After it passed, he quickly caught up with his father.

"We're going to do some sparring now," John said as he got into on-guard position.

Sam sagged. These were one of the worst parts of the training. His father pulled no punches and got incredibly angry when Sam couldn't overcome his father.

_Suck it up, Sam_. He took a deep breath and stepped in front of his father, mirroring his father's position. John immediately lunged forward and aimed a blow at Sam's shoulder. Sam spun and dodged, biting his lip at the sudden dizziness that assailed him. He squinted hard, trying to concentrate on his father's moves. John continued to attack, throwing punch after punch, kick after kick. It took all of Sam's energy to dodge them all.

"Fight back, Sam!" John ordered as he sunk a fist into Sam's belly.

Sam gasped as the wind got knocked out of him. He fell boneless to the ground, trying to regain his breath.

John scowled and started to kick Sam viciously. "Get up and fight, you lazy brat!"

Sam curled into himself, trying to protect his body against the harsh blows. "D-Daddy...!" Sam cried.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" John grabbed Sam by the shirt and hauled him into the cabin.

Sam grunted and mewed a little at the harsh treatment. The world wouldn't stop spinning and his body felt like it was on fire.

When they got inside the cabin, John dragged Sam to his room and flung him on the bed. He took off his belt and started to strike the unexpected teen.

Sam yelped as stinging leather hit his abused body. He was shaking hard and he felt his grip on reality loosen a little. "Daddy, pl-lease..."

"I'm trying help you, Sam!" John yelled as he continued to hit Sam. "If you don't toughen up and get your act together, you're going to just end up killing one or both of us." John paused in his beating and said, "Remove your shirt."

Sam bit back a sob as he slowly removed his shirt. His torso and back were a map of purple and blue bruising. Long red marks showed evidence of previous beatings.

John brought his arm back. "When will you learn, son?" _WHAP!_

When John was finally satisfied with the punishment he inflicted, he put his belt back on. "Recite the steps to making silver bullets correctly ten times."

Sam shakily pushed himself into sitting position. He had fallen onto his stomach on the bed and just remained there until his father was done with his punishment. As he sat up, his back screamed at him to stop the torturous movement, but Sam knew he couldn't. Not unless he wanted to incur his father's wrath. He tried to take in some deep breathes to control the pain, but he could only manage some stuttering breathes. He desperately tried to hold his tears and weakness back, but his trembling increased and his tears leaking out freely. His lungs were burning, his limbs ached, and his back and torso flared in pain from his punishments. His head was splitting open and he felt painfully nauseated, despite the fact he's barely eaten anything these last couple weeks.

"Sam?" John growled in warning.

Sam looked at his father with wet, unfocused eyes. He finally forced himself into sitting position and gulped. He slowly started recite how to make silver bullets correctly. John and the room kept tilting back and forth, and Sam silently begged him to stay still so he wouldn't get into any further trouble by stumbling in his recitation.

Once Sam was done, John stood up and said, "You'll be ready by six tomorrow. I'm letting you sleep in so you can get your freaking _beauty_ sleep."

Hearing the bitterness in his father's voice, Sam sat up a little straighter and suggested, "I-I c-can be u-up an' r-ready b' f-five..." Sam was determined to show his father he could be the good soldier like Dean was.

John smiled. "Good. There may be some hope for your pathetic hide yet."

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) There's a semi-good reason why John's acting like this, so please bare through it for a little bit.  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, this is turning out to be a very DIFFICULT story to write. So really tell me EVERYTHING! I'm really uncertain about how it's written and where it's going. All feedback with be MOST appreciated!**

**SORRY FOR THE DELAY! ****I've been SOOO busy this last week! I won't bore you with the details (though admitting, my new obsession with Star Trek has something to do with it. I may start writing fanfiction for it XD Don't worry, I'll update all my stories first ;D)**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter six!**

**

* * *

**

Dean stood up and stretched, enjoying how there were no more stitches to be pulled or opened. Pastor Jim just removed them about an hour ago and Dean had been doing exercises and so forth ever since. Now he was more than ready to meet his family at the cabin.

"When can we leave?"

"As soon as I get my shoes on, ya scallywag!"

"'Scallywag?'"

Pastor Jim grumbled to himself. "A few extra minutes won't make a difference."

Dean scoffed. "Whatever. If you don't hurry up, I'll hotwire the car and go myself."

"Oh, that reminds me, _I'm_ driving."

"Oh c'mon, Jim…"

The pastor chuckled. "I know you too well. And I'm _all_ too familiar with your driving skills." Jim stood and grabbed the keys. "I'm driving."

---

They arrived approximately an hour and a half later. Dean quickly got out of the car, yelling Sam and John's names.

There was no answer.

Dean frowned as he opened the cabin door. It had a salt line, but it wasn't locked. That wasn't a very 'John' thing to do.

Pastor Jim was close behind him, frowning at the apparent lifelessness of the building. "John?" he called. "Samuel?"

"Sammy!" Dean called as he entered. "It's me, Dean! Hello?!"

"They're probably out training in the woods," Jim said. "We can wait until they get back."

Dean nodded, a frown decorating his face. Something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it but... something was just not _right_.

---

It was over an hour later before Dean could hear the clanking of weapons being carried. He quickly got up and ran to the door. "Dad! Sam!" His eyes widened at the sight.

Both of them were covered in blood, Sam more than John. They had obviously hunted and killed _something_, and they didn't try to spare they're clothes when finishing it off.

"What on earth happened?!" Jim exclaimed. "Are you two alright?"

John frowned at the new arrivals. "What are you two doing here?"

"It's been six weeks," Dean said. He looked at Sam and smiled as he pointed to his side. "All better now."

Sam looked blankly at Dean, his eyes slowly shifting to where Dean was pointing before returning to Dean's face.

John gave a little grunt in acknowledgment. "Well, c'mon inside. We should probably eat something."

"I think you tow should take a shower first," Jim said, wrinkling his nose at the strong metallic smell. He was no stranger to it, but it was coming off of them in nauseating waves.

John shrugged. "Sure."

---

John had taken his shower and was talking with Jim in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Dean was pacing in front of the bathroom as Sam took his shower. He was beyond worried. Sam hadn't said a single word or acknowledged him in anyway except to look at him. And the _way _Sam looked at him... It was almost like Sam didn't recognize him.

Almost.

The bathroom door opened and Sam walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist. He walked straight past Dean and into his bedroom to get clothes.

"Sam!"

Sam froze and spun around, his eyes widening at the sight of his brother, as if seeing him for the first time. "D-Dean?"

Dean stared at Sam's body in horror. "Oh my god, Sam...!"

Sam closed his eyes. He really had no idea Dean was going to be right outside the bathroom and so didn't bother to cover up the evidence of his punishments. "I-it's okay..." Sam stuttered. "I haven't gotten in trouble for over a week now..."

Dean blinked, not comprehending of Sam's words. "What? Sam, did _Dad_ do this to you?!"

Sam frowned at the anger in Dean's voice as he mentioned their father. "Just when I screwed up..." Sam insisted. "Dad's been making sure I don't screw up anymore...!"

"Jim!" Dean yelled. _This can't be Dad... he has to be possessed or something... Dad would NEVER do this to Sammy! _"JIM!"

"Boys...!" Jim called. "You better come down here!"

Sam assumed his stoic facial expression as he quickly threw a robe on and proceeded downstairs. Dean quickly followed, not sure of what was going to happen.

When they entered the kitchen, they found Jim standing over John's body. John was unconscious, small white crystals coming out of his mouth.

"What happened?" Sam exclaimed. "Pastor Jim...!"

Jim eyes widened at Sam's face, which was covered in bruises and cuts. "Dean, take care of your brother. I'll take care of John. I'll explain later."

"What the hell's going on!?" Dean demanded. "What's wrong with my dad!? Why did he...?!"

"Later!" Jim ordered. "Take care of Sam."

Knowing Jim wouldn't be swayed, Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and led him back upstairs. "Sammy, I need you to tell me what's happened over the last few weeks."

The entered the room Sam had been sleeping in and sat on the bed. Dean momentarily froze at the specks of blood on the walls and furniture, but then pointedly ignored them.

Sam kept his stoic expression as he frowned. "I've been training with Dad."

Dean sighed as he placed his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sam, has he been beating you?"

Sam gave Dean a confused look. "Only when I don't do something right."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I _need_ to tell you? Dad was doing it for the benefit of the family. It's not like he was doing anything _wrong..._"

"What?! Of course beating the shit out of you is wrong! It doesn't matter how much you suck at something! Nothing gives him the right to -- !"

"I'm better now!" Sam exclaimed. He shot up and stood nose to nose with his brother. "I'm faster, stronger, I can fight better, and I can shoot ten fucking bottles off the fucking fence!"

"You can't tell me you _enjoyed _being beaten!"

Sam gave his brother an even look. "It was hard at first. It really hurt and I didn't,_ don't_ like it. But I sucked it up, like you and Dad are constantly telling me to do."

Dean stared at his brother in disbelief. His baby brother, who he carried out of that fire, who he had raised and cared for ever since.

This wasn't his brother. This was something his father created. _No, not his father. Something was wrong with John. Jim had made that clear_.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sam, chick-flicks be damned. Dean bit his lip when he felt how freaking _skinny_ Sam was. Every bone stuck out in sharp points; Dean felt like he could shatter his brother with merely an iota of pressure.

Sam stiffened under the comforting contact. Knowing nothing but harshness and pain for the last few weeks, the embrace seemed too foreign, too strange to be accepted. Sam quickly squirmed and forced Dean off of him, tears welling in his eyes for some unknown reason.

Dean looked at Sam in surprise and sadness. It _couldn't_ be his brother. The way Sam shrugged Dean off wasn't like a little brother who didn't want to be embarrassed. It was a little boy that was terrified of the contact and didn't know what to do with it.

When Dean stepped forward again, Sam stepped back and held a hand up. "No." Sam shook his head for emphasis. "Please, don't."

Dean nodded. "Okay, Sammy."

Confusion spread across Sam's features as he wrapped his arms around himself. He looked at his big brother uncertainly and said, "Can I get dressed now?"

"Oh. Yeah..." Dean left the room and closed the door behind him. As Sam get dressed, Dean stared into space. Nothing was going on in his mind, he wasn't thinking about anything. The subconscious painstakingly tried to work through the new information it had received.

"Oh god, Sam..."

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, this is turning out to be a very DIFFICULT story to write. So really tell me EVERYTHING! I'm really uncertain about how it's written and where it's going. All feedback with be MOST appreciated!**

**This has been one of those chapters where the characters wrote it for me. So don't blame me what happens in this chapter! It's kinda a strange ending, I think...**

**POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT (NOT IN CHAPTER)! The finale episode of this season is Lucifer Rising!!! And it says that Sam's demon blood addiction may be his downfall! AHHHHHHH!!!!! I soooo can't wait!**

**Oh yeah, and the 'supernatural reasoning...' total Bullshit. Made the whole thing up.  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter seven!**

**

* * *

**

Jim had John tied tightly to a chair, walking in a slow circle around him. He kept the bag of salt at hand, making sure he was ready to use it at a moment's notice.

"What the hell are you doing, Jim," John growled, twisting his wrists against the restraints.

Jim ignored him and continued to circle the man.

"C'mon, Jim... It's me, John!"

"You're not John. Samuel's condition and this - " Jim held up the bag of salt, "Proves it."

John sighed. "Sam's _condition_ is only the result of what he deserved."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "What has Samuel _ever_ done to deserve treatment like that?"

John rolled his eyes. "How about the fact that he almost killed his brother? Or that he refuses to try and improve, even after the _accident?_"

"There was no malice or ill-intent in Samuel's actions. Just an unfortunate turn of events."

"'An unfortunate turn of events?!' If the boy could just shoot right...!?"

Jim flung some salt at John. The crystals sizzled on his skin on contact, making John hiss in pain. Jim leaned forward and looked straight into John's eyes. "Who are you? What are you trying to do?"

John gave a twisted smile. "I'm trying to make sure my _son_ doesn't make another mistake ever again."

---

After Sam was dressed and came out of his room, Dean ran up in front of him and held his hands up. "Sam, wait."

Sam gave Dean a confused look. But when Dean gave him a look that clearly said, 'don't argue with me,' Sam stood straight and held his hands behind his back. "What is it?"

Dean frowned at Sam's soldier-like stance. He didn't notice before, but whenever they were talking or just standing there, Sam had been striking up that position. Dean sighed. _Must be something Dad - that thing - drilled into him._

"I wanna talk to you before we go down," Dean said.

"About what?"

"About what... Dad... did to you while I was at Pastor Jim's."

Sam looked a little uncomfortable. "He trained me. Punished me when necessary then continued training. There's nothing more to it."

Dean gave a small grunt of dissatisfaction. He indicated the bruises and cuts on Sam's neck and face with a nod. "And _how _exactly did Dad punish you?!"

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes he just hit me. Sometimes he withheld food."

"He withheld - !?"

"Usually he just thrashed me."

"Sam... We need to treat those! If we don't they could be infected or - "

"Dad always disinfected them at the end, I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine!" Dean growled in frustration. "Sam! What he did to you is not okay!"

"Why not?! I'm a better hunter now! I might even be as good as you!"

"It doesn't matter how _good_ you are now! Dad had absolutely no right to treat you like that! If he wanted you to learn, he should have found a better way!"

"This way was fine!" Sam insisted.

"No, it _wasn't!_"

The brothers just stood there for a few moments, absorbing the words said and catching their breath.

Sam licked his lips nervously. "Now I know I won't get you killed," Sam whispered guiltily.

Dean blinked in surprise. Sam was showing the first bit of real emotion Dean had seen since he got here. Unfortunately, it was an expression of guilt and despair.

Dean sighed and lay his hands on Sam's shoulders. "You know, you didn't _deserve_ what Dad did to you."

Sam shifted his shoulders a little, uncomfortable with the contact Dean made, but didn't make any move to remove the hands. "That's not what Dad thinks. Or what _I_ think, for that matter."

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't make it any less true." Seeing how it was making his brother uncomfortable, Dean removed his hands from Sam's shoulders. "Let's go. I think Jim has something important to discuss with us," Dean said darkly.

---

When Sam and Dean reached the bottom of the stairs, Jim walked up to them, keeping an eye on John at all times.

John looked up and smirked at Sam. "Hey, Sammy. Untie these, will ya?"

Dean put his arm up as Sam stepped forward. "Stay here, Sam."

John looked at Dean incredulously. "I'm your father," he growled. "And I'm ordering you to let me go!"

"You are _not_ our father!" Dean yelled.

"Actually, I think he is," Jim whispered.

Dean turned to Jim with wide eyes. "What?" he breathed.

"I mean, it's his body and stuff. It's not a shapeshifter and he's not possessed."

Dean looked at John, who was glowering at them with hate in his eyes. Dean looked back at the pastor. "What the hell is going?"

Jim sighed. "It's a spectral infection."

Dean gave Jim a blank look. "A what?"

"It's somewhat like ghost sickness..."

"What the hell's ghost sickness?"

"Never mind. It's... Spectral infection is a condition brought on by a dead person's body." Jim reconsidered this. "A dead person's body that was killed by a ghost. A very angry and unsatisfied ghost. After the first person is infected, it spreads around like any other disease."

"Okay..." Dean said. "But what about us?" Dean indicated him and Sam. "We've been in contact with Dad plenty of times and we're okay."

"Well, the reason that spectral infections start is because the ghost who started it had some business to take care of. So it'll infect people that satisfies their needs."

"So..." Dean looked at John with a frown. "That really is Dad... but his brain's being affected by this infection."

Jim nodded. "Exactly."

"That doesn't mean I didn't mean anything I've said!" John mocked.

"I..."

Dean and Jim turned to Sam, who was pale and starting to shake. "Sam?" Dean asked worriedly.

"I-I need to go outside!" Sam stammered out. He turned and ran out the front door.

Dean quickly followed, yelling Sam's name as he went. He barreled through the door, and froze.

Sam was standing just outside the door. If Dean had gone a few feet further he would have knocked Sam off the porch. "Sam?"

Sam shoulder's jerked in surprise. "I-I don't understand..."

Dean stepped up beside his brother and saw how his brother's eyes were wide and staring at nothing. "What don't you understand?"

Sam shook his head. "Everything. So Dad... That wasn't Dad?"

Dean shook his head. "No, not really."

Sam unconsciously started to rub the cuts under his sleeve. "So... all of this... it wasn't Dad?"

"No. Dad would have never done this to you."

Tears started to well up in Sam's eyes. "I-I don't understand!" He started to pace the length of the porch. "Dad did me a favor... I'm better now...! I-I-I deserved it!"

"Sam...!" Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders and forced his brother to look at him. "Sam, you did not... deserve... it."

Sam looked up at his big brother with tear-filled eyes. His trembling increased tenfold as he started to break down. He looked down at Dean's side and lightly touched the area of the wound with his fingers. "Y-you're okay..."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm okay."

Sam slowly nodded. Sobs started to break through, even though Sam tried desperately to keep them at bay. Dean placed a hand on the back of Sam's head and slowly brought it to his shoulder. "It's okay, Sammy... just let it go." Dean's shoulder grew damp as harsh sobs broke through Sam's body. Sam trembling turned to shaking as he started to collapse. Dean carefully sank to his knees, following the weight of Sam's body. He just held onto his little brother tightly as Sam sat limply in Dean's arms, sobs tearing through his body.

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, this is turning out to be a very DIFFICULT story to write. So really tell me EVERYTHING! I'm really uncertain about how it's written and where it's going. All feedback with be MOST appreciated!**

**This has been one of those chapters where the characters wrote it for me. So don't blame me what happens in this chapter! It's a bit harsh...**

**WARNING! Child abuse.**

**BTW! I have a poll on my profile, asking about possible new stories. Please vote and give me your opinion!  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter eight!**

**

* * *

**

"So what do we do know?" Dean asked.

After Sam's breakdown, they went back inside and sat with Jim at the kitchen table. Jim noted Sam's puffy eyes and the wet spot on Dean's shirt, but didn't bring it up.

"We have to find out what ghost is affecting your father like this. And that means research."

Dean suppressed a groan. They had barely anything to go on and since they didn't know when exactly John got this infection, they'd have to research every town they've been to in the last month. Maybe even more. "And once we find the ghost...?"

"We salt and burn the body."

"What if it's been cremated?"

Jim frowned. "We'll worry about it if it comes up."

Dean sighed. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and said, "Well, be better get busy."

---

Sam slowly walked to the master bedroom. He stopped at the door, contemplating what to do.

Something was bugging him. Everything about the way John was and had been acting, this spectral infection... it didn't all add up in Sam's mind. John didn't really seem all the different to Sam except for his methods. John's mannerisms, the way he's acting, they're all the same.

Sam told Dean and Jim that he was going to take a shower. He had already started the water and closed the bathroom door to make it seem so. Now Sam needed to talk to his father.

He opened the door and quickly closed it behind him. He swallowed hard.

John was still tied tightly to that chair. He appeared to be sleeping. But when Sam stepped forward and the floorboards creaked, his head shot up. He smiled at Sam. "You finally gonna listen to me?"

Sam froze. "D-Dean and Pastor Jim are gonna help you."

John scoffed. "Help me? Sam, there is nothing _wrong_ with me. They're following a wild goose chase. All because I tried to make you into a better hunter. Tell me, Sam. Do you think your brother would even survive the next hunt you joined us on if I didn't buckle down on you, make you train harder?"

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. Finally he mumbled, "No."

John nodded. "I didn't think so." He looked down at his bindings. "Untie me, Sam."

Sam took a step back. "Maybe I should get Pastor Jim." He turned to leave.

"You're disobeying me _again!_"

Sam froze. "N-no... I-I'm just - "

"No, you're disobeying me. And what exactly happened last time that happened?"

Sam turned towards his father. "Dean's not going to _die_ if I disobey you!" he said angrily.

"And what, you think you not releasing me is a _good _thing? So what happens when we go on a hunt and you disobey me because you think it's _wrong_. Don't start the habit now, Sam."

Sam licked his lips nervously. His father had a point. If he disobeyed now, what happens when he disobeyed him in a crucial moment?

He stepped up knelt next to the chair his father was in. He slowly untied Pastor Jim's expert knots.

John smiled smugly at his victory.

After Sam finished untying the bonds, John stood, rubbing his wrists and getting the circulation flowing. Sam stood next to John, waiting for the next order.

John sighed and turned to Sam. "Sam. Look at me."

Sam looked up at his father and suppressed a shiver at the hard coldness in his father's eyes.

John smiled before backhanding Sam across the face. Sam gave a small grunt as his head snapped to the side. He held a hand up to his face in shock.

"That was for the hesitation," John growled. He grabbed the collar of Sam's shirt and slammed him against the wall. Sam bit his lip to prevent the scream of pain from coming out. John brought a fist back and smiled. "This is for disobeying me before."

---

"Yes!" Dean hissed.

"You found it?" Jim asked.

"Yeah... I'm looking at this town's obits. We were stay there about two months ago, dealing with a rawhead. Dad could have come in contact with this dude when he was examing the kid's bodies in the morgue..."

Jim got up and stood behind Dean. "Who is it?"

"Mark Yeller..." Dean sighed. "Widower and grandfather of six, he had an 'iron fist' over his grandchildren, so to speak. Apparently the children's parents died in a car accident and Yeller and his wife took them in. But few years after his wife died, he was arrested for abuse and neglect of his children. According to reports, he was trying to 'toughen them up' and turn them into mini soldiers. Doctors found out he was suffering from Alzheimer's, so since he was a veteran of the second world war..." Dean shook his head in disbelief. How could anyone treat their grandchildren like that? No matter what the cause... "He was arrested about four years ago."

Jim nodded. "When did he die?"

"About three months ago. Alzheimer's finally did him in. And get this. A few days before we got into that town, there was another death. The eldest of Yeller's grandchildren, Ethan Yeller, age 15, was killed. Looks like he was beaten to death. The perpetrator hasn't been found, though all of Ethan's siblings insist it was their dead grandfather." Dean frowned at the name 'Ethan Yeller.' "I think that's one of the bodies Dad looked at."

Jim sighed. "That's where he got the infection. 'Toughening up,' 'mini soldiers...' That sound familiar?"

"Sam..." Dean looked up the stairs. "He's been in that shower for a long time now."

Jim placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Maybe you should go check on him."

Dean nodded. He got up and walked up the staircase. "Sam!?" Dean yelled as he approached the bathroom. When he got to the bathroom, he rapped on the closed door. "Sam, you okay in there?"

There was no response. Dean frowned. He tried to open the door but found it locked. "Sam? Answer me now, dammit!" When there was still no answer, Dean stepped back and kicked the door in.

He ran in and pulled the shower curtain inside, half-expecting Sam to be laying there unconscious. But when there was nothing there but cold running water, Dean's worry intensified. He quickly turned off the water and ran out of the bathroom and toward's Sam's room. "Sam - ?!"

He froze mid-stride at the faint sound of grunting. He turned his head towards the end of the hallway where the master bedroom was, where the source of the grunting back from. _Where John was being kept_.

Dean ran to the room and flung the door open. "Sam!"

John dropped Sam unceremoniously on the floor. He had fresh blood on his fists and shirt and his face was red with anger. Sam lay on the floor, shaking hard and trying to curl in on himself. His shirt was wet with blood. "Dean," John said calmly. "I suggest you step out of here now."

Dean slowly stepped forward, not wanting to force his father to do anything drastic. "Dad... You need to calm down."

John frowned. "I am calm. _You_ need to leave so I can finish disciplining this _brat_." John kicked Sam in the side.

Sam let out a strangled scream as the pain flared through his body. His body shook harder as sobs started to shake him. _I failed... I completely and utterly failed..._

Dean took a sharp step forward as John started to kick Sam repeatedly. "Dad, stop it NOW!"

John paused in his beating and turned to Dean. He shook his head at the gun Dean now had pointed at his head. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

Dean gave a strained smile. "Sure."

_**BAM!**_

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**REMEMBER TO TAKE THE POLL!  
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**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**I'm starting to get the hang of this story! (Finally! XD) Too bad there's only two or three chapters left :(  
**

**BTW! I'm starting my new fic sometime this week. It's gonna be either "John comes home to find both the boys tortured" Or "Mary and John adopt two abused boys with _unique_ attributes." Check it out if you're interested.  
**

**Again, the characters wrote this chapter, not me. It ended up kinda strange.... Not at all what I expected.  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18  
**

**Enjoy chapter nine!**

**

* * *

**

Jim jumped at the sound of a gun going off. "Sam! Dean!" He ran up the stairs, calling out their names.

"In here!" Dean yelled.

Jim quickly ran to the room John was being held in and flung the door open.

Sam was curled up against the wall, beaten to hell. John was on the floor, blood flowing freely from his leg, cursing up a storm as Dean tied him tightly to the bed posts. "What the hell happened?!"

"I'm not quite sure," Dean said as he tightened the bonds.

"You're gonna pay for this, you little shit!" John spat.

"Yeah..." Dean brought his gun and hit his father over the head, knocking him out cold. "We'll see about that."

Sam sat stoic, minutely pushing himself into the corner. He stared blankly at his father, seemingly unaware of everything else.

"Sam?"

Sam jerked a little. He looked at his brother before quickly lowering his gaze. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "It's okay, Sam."

Sam shrugged his brother off. "I know."

Jim knelt next to Dean. "Sam, why did you untie your father?"

Sam shrugged. "Just screwed up."

"Stop that," Dean said. "Just tell us what happened."

Sam shifted a little, uncomfortable with the current situation. "Dad gave me an order. I... I have to follow his orders."

"But that's not Dad," Dean insisted. "Dad's infected with that weirdass infection thing. We just need to salt and burn the ghost that infected him and he'll be back to normal!"

"He'll not hit me anymore," Sam almost shouted, "But I'll still be a disappointment, the weak link, you're fucking bane!"

Dean grabbed Sam's head roughly. "You're _not _a disappointment, you're _not_ the weak link, and you're _not _my god fucking bane! You're my amazing little brother that can research his family through the floor. This -- " Dean pointed to his side. "This was an accident! It could have happened to anyone. Now if you don't stop blaming yourself, right _now_, I'm going to kick your _ass_ through the roof!"

Sam stared at his brother in shock. Then he started to giggle. Just a little spasm at first, then he started to full on belly-laugh.

Dean looked at Sam as if he grew an extra head. "Sam?"

"S-sorry..." Sam said through his giggles. "It's just... you were so mad, then you..." Sam continued to laugh his lungs out.

Dean didn't know why, but his lips started to twitch up. He smiled, then started to laugh right with his brother.

Jim shook his head as he checked to make sure John's ropes were tight. _Brothers..._

---

**Three days later**

Jim had taken John with him to the town Mark Yeller had died in. The plan was to keep John under his wraps while he burned Yeller's corpse. Meanwhile, Dean spent the days trying to bring Sam's health back up. He fed Sam so much food that Sam felt as though he was going to explode, he treated and checked Sam's wounds on an hourly basis, and overall just relaxed.

The hard part was at night.

Sam was having difficultly falling asleep at night, feeling the need to recite every exorcism and weapon making process in the book. When Dean tried to force Sam to just go to bed, Sam would start shaking and throwing up from panic.

And when Dean finally was able to get Sam to fall asleep, his nightmares were tremendous.

Nightmares of Dean dying, of Dean and John accusing him or leaving him behind, of John punishing Sam from not doing a well enough job... the list just went on. Dean was starting to resort to heavy duty drugs to get Sam to have a long, dreamless sleep.

Dean got off his cell phone and sighed.

"What did he say?" Sam asked.

Dean tapped the phone nervously against the palm of his hand. "Mark Yeller is a pile of ashes."

Sam looked down at his barely-touched soup and stirred it around with the spoon. He swallowed hard and said, "And Dad?"

Dean blew out a long sigh. "Jim said he's normal again."

Sam looked at Dean pensively. "And?"

"And... They're coming back. They should be here by tonight."

Sam's body stiffened. "I-I see..." The soup just became _that _much more interesting.

Dean sat down next to Sam and rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Sam. Dad's not going to be disappointed in you, or blame you for anything, got it?"

Sam nodded absentmindedly as he continued to stir his soup.

---

Sam and Dean were on the couch watching a movie when Jim's car drove to the front of the cabin. Sam stiffened and started to tremble. Dean stood, told Sam to stay there and went to answer the door.

Jim and John slowly made their way towards the cabin. John was limply slightly from the bullet wound in his leg.

"Hey, Dad," Dean said.

John looked up at his eldest with tired and weary eyes. "Hey, Dean." He looked around hesitantly. "Where's your brother?"

Dean looked his father over, trying to make absolutely sure that was actually his father and not the bastard that's been abusing his brother for the past month and a half. "He's inside," he finally said.

John nodded as he and Jim climbed up the stairs to the porch. "How is he?" he asked nervously.

"Physically? Better. Emotionally? Could be better." Dean didn't bother trying to stop himself from glaring at his father. He knew it wasn't _totally_ his father's fault, but after all that talk about watching out at all times for supernatural threats, Dean wasn't feeling too sympathetic at the moment.

John sighed. "Can I see him?"

Dean stared at his father for a moment before slowly nodding.

---

Sam sat nervously on the couch, his back straight, his head up high and his leg jigging nervously up and down. He held his hands tightly together, trying to calm his trembles down.

He could hear his father's rough voice outside and was starting to feel very sick. Previous commands given by that same voice echoed in his head, making him want to burst into tears, but he didn't dare. Not in front of his father. Or anywhere _near_ his father.

He heard the door open and everybody walked in. Sam slowly stood, knowing John would want to see him. He slowly walked towards the front entryway, his shaking increasing with each step. Breathing seemed to suddenly become a much harder task as his lungs seemed to shrink in size.

As soon as he entered the entryway, everything froze.

John stood in front with Dean and Jim closely behind. For a moment, Sam and John just stared at each other, both momentarily shocked. Sam's breathing was nonexistent, and his mind completely blank.

Then the moment was broken was John stepped forward. "Sam," he acknowledged.

Sam stood straight with his arms evenly by his sides. "Sir," he replied.

John's expression was blank and his face cold. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, sir."

John nodded. "Okay, then." He walked past Sam and up the stairs to his room. Jim quickly followed for some unknown reason.

Sam almost collapsed as his father disappeared up the stairs. But Dean quickly grabbed Sam by the arm and led him to the kitchen. He sat Sam at the table and sat beside him. "Sam?"

"Yeah," he said distractedly.

"You okay?"

He nodded unconvincingly. "I just... That wasn't what I was expecting."

"From Dad?"

"From either of us."

Dean nodded.

"I just kinda wished... he would... _apologize_ or something."

"I don't think John Winchester is even _capable_ of apologizing."

Sam smiled. "I know. But it's like he didn't even _care_..."

"Sam..." Dean reached up and wiped his cheek.

Sam jerked back in surprise, unaware that he was crying. He brought his hand up and quickly wiped his face off. "I don't know what's worse... Dad thinking I'm useless... or him not thinking anything at _all!"_

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**I'm starting to get the hang of this story! (Finally! XD) There should be a few more chapters for me to enjoy this new... uh... 'hanging' :P  
**

**I'm a little... _proud _of this chapter, but feel free to shoot me down if you disagree! (seriously XD)  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter ten!**

**

* * *

**

Jim knocked on the door. "John?"

"What?" a gruff voice replied.

"Can I come in?"

John just grunted in affirmation.

Jim opened the door and closed it behind him. John was sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head resting on his clenched fists.

"Don't you think you were a bit _cold_ downstairs, John?"

"What do you mean?" John asked, his expression stoic.

"You know damn well what I mean!"

John sighed and closed his eyes. Then he turned to face the pastor. "What am I supposed to do, Jim? Apologize?"

"It'd be a start," Jim said.

John scoffed. "You kidding me, right? After everything I've _done_?! You really think a freakin' _apology_ is going to make a difference?!" John buried his face in his hands again. "I don't know if I'll even be able to _look_ at him again."

Jim sighed. "John, I know this is hard for you. But try to think about this from your son's point of view. His father has just emotionally and physically abused him for several consecutive weeks. Then he finds out his father was being influenced, but when his father is free from that influence, he won't speak or even look at him. How do you think Sam feels about that?"

"I don't know..." John said. He folded his hands and rest his head on them again. "It was so much worse than being possessed. I wasn't even aware that I was doing anything _wrong_. I just kept hitting him, torturing him... I stuck him in the attic once. No clothes, no blanket, nothing. My reasoning was to get Sam to understand how much worse it could be. I locked him up there for three days without ever opening the door to even check on him."

Jim closed his eyes as he imagined Sam going through that, all the while probably thinking he deserved it. "But that's just my point, John. If you don't do or say anything, Sam's gonna think that he _deserved_ it."

"No, he won't," John said.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know Dean won't let him. Dean's been a much better father than I ever have..."

Jim sighed. "But he's not Sam's father. You are. And you've shirked that duty for much too long now."

"Dean can handle it -- "

"Dean's a boy, too!" Jim yelled angrily. "He's only eighteen now! And he's been raising Sam since he was four! Where was his childhood while you were off killing werewolves and demons?" Jim shook his head. "In the end, you're still their father. And you carry authority that Dean could never replace. It's a matter of life. Dean cannot undo the damage you've done without your help."

John sat in silence while he processed Jim's words. "It's not that simple."

"I know it's not. But you have to try."

"No," John said. "I mean... I don't think even Dean'll have it in him to forgive me."

"He already has, John..."

"No, he hasn't! I can tell when he looks at me! He doesn't trust me anymore!" John sighed. "And if he knew everything I did..."

Jim sighed and shook his head. "Fine. You can stay up here in your self-pity. I'll be downstairs, talking with _your_ sons."

---

Dean was playing with his bowie knife, throwing it into the table, taking it out, then throwing it again. Sam was sitting next to him, drawing detailed devil's traps over and over again.

When Jim came down the stairs, Dean threw the knife into the table again and left it there as he got up and walked towards the pastor. "So?" he asked.

Jim sighed. "Your father is a very stubborn man."

Dean shook his head angrily. "And stupid."

Sam stopped drawing the devil's traps and got up to join the conversation. "Did he say anything to you, Jim?" he asked.

"Your father... he's _immensely_ guilty about what's he's done, Sam. You have to believe that much."

Sam nodded. "I do."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

"Yeah..." Sam bit his lip, walked back to the table and continued to draw the devil's traps.

"I don't think he believes me," Jim said.

"I think he does..." Dean said. "He's just wondering why Dad didn't tell him himself."

---

The next few days, everyone was walking on shells. Most of the time, John stayed closed up in his room except to go to the bathroom. Jim would bring him food and sometimes talk to him (scold him, more like), but he remained unchanged.

Overall, Sam was doing better. He was more open to Dean than before. His nightmares were becoming less intense and he even smiled more often.

On the fourth day after John's arrival, John came down to eat dinner with everybody else.

It had been announced before hand, but no one felt ready for it. Sam had gone quiet again, barely talking to anyone, even Dean. Dean was stiff and had a tendency to snap back at Jim whenever he so much as mentioned John. And Jim was just praying that some progress would be made this evening.

When John came down, the others were already seated at the table. It didn't escape John's notice that John would be sitting next to Dean and Jim, and not Sam. John took his seat and gave a strained smile. "Pizza?"

"Dinner of champions," Dean said coldly.

John smirked at his son's testing tone of voice. "Sure is," he said back as he grabbed a couple slices and plopped them on his plate.

The next few minutes were spent in silent. John glanced at his youngest and couldn't fail to notice the way Sam was sitting straight at attention and barely picking at his food.

"You should eat, Sammy," John said.

Sam's head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise. "W-what?"

"You should eat. I'm sure you're hungry."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "And how the hell would you know that?"

John shrugged. "Just assuming." He took another slice of pizza.

Sam glared at his father. "Maybe you should stop assuming what I'm feeling!"

Dean and Jim froze, their gazes flickering between the two Winchesters.

John set his half-eaten slice of pizza down and sighed. "I'm not assuming what you're feeling. I'm just trying to be considerate."

Sam scoffed. "What? Is it too much effort for you to even try and be _convincing?_"

"Sam..." Dean said.

"No," John said. "Tell me Sam. What gives you the right to throw my words back at my face when I'm _trying_ to be nice?"

"'Trying to be nice?'" Sam exclaimed. "You couldn't even give me a damned apology! And _now_ you're trying to be nice!?"

"I didn't think you'd want an apology!"

"And there you go, assuming what I feel!"

"Well maybe if you weren't so self-absorbed in your little 'poor-me' world, none of us would have to guess what you fucking feel and try not to 'accidentally' hurt your fucking feelings!"

"Dad!" Dean yelled.

"John!" Jim warned.

Sam slammed his fists on the table. The table went silent. "Fine. I'm going to my room." He quickly stood and ran up the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean quickly followed his brother, leaving Jim and John at the table.

John blinked as he quickly ran the previous argument through his head. He moaned in disbelief when he realized what he had said.

Jim shook his head in anger. "Dammit, John!"

"Yeah..." John nodded his head in agreement. "I really screwed it up this time."

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**I'm starting to get the hang of this story! (Finally! XD) There should be a few more chapters for me to enjoy this new... uh... 'hanging' :P (actually, I think I have SEVERAL more chapters now...)  
**

**Thank you EVERYBODY for reading this fic! And thank you especially to those who reviewed! OVER 200! That's amazing! And I love every single one! Thank you all so much!**

**I have a new poll on my profile. I'm really busy starting this week and might be updating less often. So I was just wondering if there were any fics in particular you wanted me to work on more than the others. VOTE AND LET ME KNOW!**

**WARNING: Some child discipline.  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter eleven!**

**

* * *

**

_I cannot _believe_ this is happening!_ Dean thought as he sprinted up the stairs after his brother. He flinched as he heard the bedroom door slam and the lock click, effectively barring him out. Dean quickly rapped on the door and said, "Sam, let me in."

"I don't want to talk," Sam said miserably.

"Too bad." Dean jiggled on the knob, but it didn't give. "Sam..."

"Dean, _please..._ just leave me alone..."

"Goddammit, Sam, open this door, _right now_, or I swear -- !"

The door was suddenly opened. Sam was standing there, looking dejected. Before Dean could say another word, Sam was turned around and going back to his bed. Dean frowned before entering the room.

Sam was sitting up straight on his bed, facing away Dean. As Dean got closer, he noticed Sam shaking. "Sam..."

"Please don't be mad," Sam whispered.

Dean blinked in shock. "What!?"

Sam turned a little towards Dean, his expression one of fear. Dean swallowed as he saw a tear fall down Sam's face.

"Please don't be mad at me," Sam practically begged.

"Sam..." Dean sat next to his brother with a worried expression. "I'm not mad."

Sam closed his eyes and nodded. He quickly wiped off the tear, as if just noticing it. "Okay," he said breathlessly.

Dean frowned. "Sam, why would you think I was mad?"

Sam's shaking increased a little as he bowed his head down, his bangs effectively hiding his eyes. "Locked Dad out once. Strung me up and beat me for an hour."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "My god..."

Sam gave a bitter laugh. "Doesn't seem like Dad's changed much, has he...?"

"Yes, he has," Dean insisted. "I swear, he won't touch a hair on your head."

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied dismissively. "Pretty obvious what he thinks of me."

"He just got frustrated. You _were _a bit testing..."

"Why are you defending him!?" Sam jumped up from the bed and faced his still-seated brother. "I mean, you said it yourself! It's not my fault. I didn't deserve what happened." Sam's eyes practically turned to liquid as a small hint of betrayal reflected in them. "Are you saying it _is _my fault?"

"No!" Dean stood and grabbed Sam's shoulders. "Sam, look at me. Hey! Look. At. Me." When Sam finally turned his eyes to meet his brother's, Dean sighed. "It is not your fault. None of it was."

Sam's lip started to tremble. He bit it hard enough to bleed. "Dean..." he begged.

Dean wrapped his arms around his brother and held him close as Sam started to sob in his big brother's chest. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Shh..."

"Wh-why...?" Sam sobbed. "Why does Dad hate me so much...?"

Dean sighed, unsure what to think. "He doesn't..." Dean whispered, now trying to convince himself. "He loves you so much..."

Sam hiccuped, not really believing it. "Just say 'sorry'..." he plead. "Just 'sorry'..."

For a long time, they just stood there, Sam crying his heart out, quietly pleading to his father.

---

Jim rubbed his face and groaned in disbelief. "John..."

"I know, I KNOW!" John sighed. "Goddammit..."

"Is it possible for you to think before you open your mouth?!"

"Easy for you to say. Did you hear the way he was talking to me!?"

"I think Sam has a legitimate reason to be angry or upset at you. Besides, after all these weeks, I'm sure it's just his way of trying to deal."

John slammed a fist on the table. "No matter what happened, I'm still his father and he should treat me with respect!"

"Isn't that attitude what got you here in the first place?" John didn't say anything. "I thought so." Jim sighed as he got up and started to clear off the table. "You need to get your own feelings and problems dealt with before you try and deal with Sam's. I suggest you do some serious thinking and prioritize yourself."

John gave the table a frustrated smack before standing. "Fine," he grumbled as he left and climbed the stairs.

---

_"No, no, NO!" John backslapped Sam across the face, knocking him out of the chair and onto the floor. "Why can't you draw a simple devil's trap?!"_

_Sam simply sat on the floor, his hand rubbing his reddening cheek. For hours, his father's been trying to get Sam to memorize how to draw a not-so-simple devil's trap, including a perfect circle. A single mistake led to degradation and physical repercussions._

_"Get back up here," John spat. Sam quickly pulled himself up and sat back down in the chair, picking up his pen, and waiting for orders. John sighed. "This is your last try."_

_Sam tried, he really did. But the mixture of shaking and John hovering uncomfortably close, caused the pen to do things Sam didn't want._

_"My god, you're useless!" John pulled the paper out from under Sam's pen, crumpled it and threw it away. "Go to your room and remove your shirt and pants."_

_Silently nodding, Sam quickly did as he said. He sat on the bed, dreading the consequences he knew were to come._

_A few minutes later, John entered, an ugly scowl on his face. "Bend over your bed," John ordered._

_Sam closed his eyes and did as he was told. He waited for the sting of John's belt, but it didn't come. Instead, John pulled down Sam's boxers. "D-Dad...?" John pulled a hand back and slapped Sam on his rump._

_Sam yelped in surprise and pain as the calloused hand hit him full-force. John continued to spank him until tears came to Sam's eyes. "D-Dad, please..."_

_"What?!" John spat, pausing in his punishment._

_"A-aren't I a b-bit old for this?"_

_"You act like a whiny brat, I treat you like a whiny brat." Without further ado, John continued to spank Sam._

_Half an hour later, he was still going and Sam was sobbing from the pain and humiliation. His backside was on fire and John continued to strike it. Sam felt like the world's biggest baby. He was thirteen, almost fourteen, and getting _spanked_ by his father. The constant disapproval and degradation John muttered fueled Sam's feeling of inadequacy and uselessness. _

_Sam buried his face in a pillow, trying to hide his face from the world. _Please don't let Dean ever find out, _he silently begged._

_John continued to spank him._

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

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	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**I'm starting to get the hang of this story! (Finally! XD) There should be a few more chapters for me to enjoy this new... uh... 'hanging' :P (actually, I think I have SEVERAL more chapters now...)  
**

**Thank you EVERYBODY for reading this fic! And thank you especially to those who reviewed! OVER 200! That's amazing! And I love every single one! Thank you all so much!**

**WARNING: Some child discipline.  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter twelve!**

**

* * *

**

Sam started awake. For a moment, he thought he was still living with that nightmare. But when he heard a snore, turned his head, saw his brother, and remembered. Sam closed his eyes and sighed, ignoring the tears that were rising up in his eyes. _It was just a nightmare... it's over now._

At least the pain was.

Sam lay back down, his head turned to stare at Dean. He tried to reassure himself that Dean was here, Dean was between the door and him, that he was safe. But his body didn't seem to be listening. It continued to tremble and slowly but surely, tears were falling out of his eyes. Sam buried his face in his pillow, ashamed of what he had done, ashamed of what he had let happened, and ashamed of what he had become.

"Sammy?"

Sam froze. "What?" he croaked out.

He heard Dean sigh. "Another nightmare?"

Sam sagged in his bed before putting his arms under himself and sitting up. Dean was propped on his elbow, watching Sam with a worried expression.

"Yeah, but it's nothing to worry about," Sam nonchalantly,

wiping the tears from his face.

"Mm…" Clearly, Dean didn't believe him.

"Really," Sam said. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping his brother would follow suit.

"Tell me about it."

Sam sighed. "I screwed up and Dad hurt me. Isn't that what _all_ my nightmares are about nowadays?"

"Yeah, but I know you. You feel better after you let it out."

"And induce a chick flick moment?" Sam asked jokingly.

"Well, you can tell me with out a chick flick moment."

Sam let out a frustrated growl. "Can't you just leave me alone and let me sleep!?"

"Nope. Not until you talk to me."

"And what good will that do?!" Sam sat back up, glaring at his brother. "It happened. It's over. The nightmares will eventually go away. Meantime, I'd like to at least _try_ and freaking sleep!"

Dean sighed. He was hoping to get his brother to at least talk a little bit about his dreams, but so far he's been completely unsuccessful. Dean had a vague idea from when Sam would wake up, screaming for John to stop, or for Dean to wake up. But whenever Sam woke up without screaming or panicking, he was tightlipped; obviously ashamed of the nightmares.

"Alright," Dean said. He lay back down and pulled the covers back up over himself. "'Night, Sam."

"'Night," Sam murmured.

---

It was close to four in the morning when Dean was once again awakened by the faint sound of sniffling. Dean sighed inward, but didn't move or say anything. Sam obviously wanted to be left alone in dealing with his nightmares.

A few minutes later, the sniffling stopped and there was only slightly labored breathing. The rustle of sheets was heard and the slight sound of bare feet on hardwood.

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder that shook him ever so slightly. "D-Dean?" Sam whispered.

Dean gave a slight moan, pretending that he was only then waking up. He looked up at Sam through sleep-filled eyes and noted Sam's shaking body and his slightly swollen eyes. "What is it?" Dean moaned out.

Sam stood there for a moment, obviously contemplating something. Then Sam shook his head. "N-nothing." Sam turned back to his bed. "Go back to sleep. Sorry I bothered you."

Dean sighed in annoyance and lifted his covers. Sam turned back around and gave Dean a confused look.

"Well?" Dean said.

Sam gave a relieved smile as he quickly climbed into the bed with his brother. Dean covered them both up with the covers and casually rested an arm around his brother. "'Night, Sam."

"'Night, Dean."

---

John climbed down the stairs, rubbing the back of his neck and yawning. When he walked in to the kitchen, he saw Jim making omelets and more importantly, a pot of coffee brewing. "What time is it?" he asked.

"'Round nine-thirty."

John gave a tired laugh as he sat down at the table. "I can't remember the last time I've slept this late."

"You needed it," Jim said as he dumped one of the omelets on a plate. "Do any serious thinking last night?" he asked casually.

For a moment, John didn't say anything. Then he sighed and said, "I want Sam to trust me again."

"Good," Jim said. He set the plate down in front of John with a fork.

"Coffee?" John asked hopefully.

"Give it a couple more minutes to finish brewing." Jim sat next to John as the man started to eat.

John gave a small laugh. "You make pretty good omelets for a pastor."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Jim asked with a smile. But he quickly sobered up as he asked, "How do you suppose you're going to earn your sons' trust back?"

"Wait," John said. "What do you mean sons'?"

"I mean Dean's going to be a little wary around you, too now. Sam is one of the most important people to him. Unfortunately, the other most important person in his life hurt him beyond description, supernatural influence or not."

John sighed. "What do you think I should do?"

"I can't tell you that. You need to come up with your own ideas."

"Jim, c'mon…"

"You want your sons to trust you, you're going to have to be completely sincere. That includes _how _you gain his trust back."

There was a small click in the background, announcing the coffee's finish. Jim stood and grabbed a mug for both of them. "Though honestly," Jim continued, "At least at first, it might be best to just leave them alone."

John sighed. "I know. But for how long?"

Jim shrugged. "That depends on the boys." He sat back down, placed John's coffee down in front of him, and sipped his own coffee.

John took a long gulp of the dark liquid and sighed in satisfaction. "Could you talk to them?" John asked.

Jim nodded. "Of course, not that it'll do much."

John took another deep swig of coffee and said, "At this point, every little bit helps."

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**3) Remember to take my poll! XD  
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**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, I have no idea how long this story is going to go. But I LOVED writing this chapter XD  
**

**Thank you EVERYBODY for reading this fic! And thank you especially to those who reviewed! **

**I AM BACK!!!!!!! And should be back to regular updating now. Hope you enjoying the welcoming back chapter XD And I hope most of you haven't disappeared on me for good :(  
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**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter thirteen!**

**

* * *

**

Jim stood just outside the boys' room, trying to organize his thoughts. _How am I gonna do this...?_ Jim lightly knocked on the door. "Boys?"

"Jim?" Dean's voice asked. "What is it?"

"Can I come in?"

There was a moment of silence before, "Sure, come in."

Jim opened the door and stepped in. Sam was sitting on his bed, murmuring to himself with his eyes closed and head bowed. Dean was writing in a small notebook on his own bed. "What is it, Jim?" Dean asked.

Jim hesitated a little. "Can I talk to you boys? Both of you?"

Sam stopped in his mumbling and opened his eyes to stare into space. Dean put his notebook down and looked up at Jim. "Sure. What about?" Sam didn't move from his position, but didn't continue his mumbling.

Jim sighed. "Your father wants to make things right. He wants you two to trust him again."

"Mmm," Dean said, not really believing. "And did he tell you this or are you _assuming_ he feels this way."

"Dean, you attitude's not gonna help the situation."

Dean shrugged and glanced at his brother. "Can't he just leave us alone for now? You know, so we can do remotely normal things without feeling awkward?"

Jim nodded. "I know, Dean. But think about this from your father's point of view. He really was under the influence of a spirit. Now, I know he's been rough and not exactly dealing with all of this the way he should be, but this is hard for him too."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, maybe. But if he really cared enough, he'd be patient."

Jim nodded again. "That's actually pretty much what I told him. But I still feel sympathy for the man."

Dean blinked. "Yeah, but -- "

"I want to talk to him," Sam said suddenly.

Dean and Jim both turned to Sam, momentarily dumbfounded by the statement. "Talk to him," Dean repeated. "Talk to Dad?"

Sam nodded. "I wanna talk to him alone."

Dean looked at Sam with disbelief. "Sam, I don't think that's -- "

"Dean." Sam gave his brother a knowing look. Which with mix with his puppy-dog look, Dean really had no other choice.

"Fine, but only if I stand right outside the door."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

---

John drained the rest of his coffee, letting out a satisfied sigh. He knew the chances of his sons wanting to hang with him are slim to none, so he had to think of a way to pass the time in a pacifying manner.

"Dad?"

John's head snapped up and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw his youngest standing in the doorway. "Sam!"

Sam's expression remained neutral as he stepped into the kitchen and sat across from his father. He kept his eyes away from his father's face, instead focusing them on his father's chest.

John didn't know what to do. He had no idea why his son was sitting in front of him. Was it for an apology? Was so he could ream out his father? Why? John had no idea, so he asked. "Sam, What are you doing here?"

Sam's head snapped up at that. Then he chuckled softly to himself. "That's it? I haven't had a decent conversation with you, for weeks... and all you can say is 'what are you doing here?'"

John stared at Sam incredulously. "Well, Sam, what am I _supposed_ to say?"

Sam shrugged and threw his hands up in the air. "I dunno. Maybe... 'How are you doing?' 'What's up?' Or even just ask me about the fucking weather! But no, I get 'what are you doing here?'"

John quirked an eyebrow up. He honestly didn't understand why his youngest was so angry with him. "Sam, I was just confused as to why you were even here."

"Well, forget that," Sam said. "Just know that I am and move on."

John slowly nodded his head, more confused than ever. "Alright then." Not really knowing what to say, John spent a moment just looking at his son. He noticed with a stab of guilt that Sam's face was still covered with bruises and cuts, although his eyes seemed less swollen than the last time he saw Sam. "How are ya doing?" John asked quietly.

Sam shrugged. "Little sore. But otherwise okay."

John nodded. "So what plans do you and your brother have today?"

Sam shrugged again. "I'm sure Dean'll come up with something. He always does."

John smiled. "That he does."

The sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. "I had a nightmare last night," Sam announced.

John's eyes widened slightly at his son's admittance. He was almost afriad to ask but... "What... what was it about?"

Sam looked up and stared his father straight in the eyes for the first time in months. "I couldn't draw the devil's traps right. So you bent me over the bed and spanked me for almost an hour."

John winced and looked away. His son's complete lack of emotion was too much for him. "I-I see."

Sam continued to stare at his father's eyes, despite the fact that his father had looked away. "It reminded me of all those times you bent me over and strapped me with the belt."

John's eyes started to fill with tears. Why was Sam doing this to him? Was this his son's way of payback?

"'Course, those were all nothing compared to the time you dunked me naked in the river that one night. And left me there tied to a tree where I almost drowned."

"Sam... stop it," John tried to say with authority.

"Or the time you soaked my hands and held them to an electrical current."

"Sammy, stop it!"

"But none of those compare to all those times -- "

"Sammy!"

" -- you told me how Dean was going to _die_ because of me." Sam seemed to look deeper into his father's eyes, effectively silencing him. "And you explained, in detail, how every single punishment you gave me, would save Dean's life. And I believed you. I _still_ believe what you said. And no matter what Dean or Jim tell me, I _still _believe I deserved what you did to me."

John looked up to meet eyes with his son's and found that Sam's were also filled with tears. John shook his head. "It wasn't me..." John shook his head again. "What do you want me to do, huh? You _know_ it wasn't me! You _know_ I would never hurt you like that! What do you _want_?!"

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. A hint of anger showed through his mask as he said, "What do _you_ think I want?" Sam sighed, a tear falling down his face unheeded. His face went back to neutral. "Dad, telling you... completely defeats the purpose." With that, Sam got up and left his father at the table.

* * *

**So...?**

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.  
**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Okay, I have no idea how long this story is going to go. But I got a new idea, so i think there's quite a bit left :P  
**

**Thank you EVERYBODY for reading this fic! And thank you especially to those who reviewed! **

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter fourteen!**

* * *

When Sam left the dining room, he was not surprised at all to feel a hand on his shoulder. "Dean..." Sam started.

"No."

Sam looked at his brother. Dean looked completely neutral to the untrained eye, but Sam could tell that he was devastated by what he heard. Sam was already regretted saying it. "Just forget it, Dean..."

"'Forget it'?? How can you expect me to just forget?" Dean quickly led Sam back up the stairs and into their room, not wanting their father to hear their conversation. After closing the door behind him, Dean wheeled around. Sam was sitting on his bed, his leg jigging up and down. Dean sighed. "You can't honestly believe that everything Dad did to you is going to help me _survive_, do you?"

Sam hung his head, refusing to answer.

"Sam..." Dean sat on the bed opposite Sam and placed a hand on his knee.

"It made so much sense," Sam said, avoiding eye contact with his brother. "Everything he said, his reasoning... it all made perfect sense."

Dean's stomach practically disappeared. "So you really believe you deserved everything Dad did to you. The beatings, the abuse... everything."

Sam seemed to fold in on himself, his body starting to shake. "Dean..." Sam said in a strained voice. "I'm not mad at Dad for what he did to me... I'm not mad at him for anything."

The distance between them suddenly became much too large. Dean stood and sat next to Sam on the bed, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders.

"I know... that what he did was wrong, and he shouldn't have. But... I can't _really_ convince myself of that! I can't...! I don't believe myself..." Sam clutched the sides of his head. his breathing uneven as he started to softly sob.

Dean had no idea what to say. So he just held Sam close, letting Sam sob in his arms. _God, how am I gonna fix this?_

"So..." Dean said slowly. "What exactly do you want from _Dad_?" Because honestly, Dean was confused as to what Sam wanted and why he was being so cryptic about it. For an amusing moment, Dean considered asking Sam whether he was sure he was a fully-functioning _guy_. But now was not the time or place for that sort of thing.

Sam sat up a little straighter, turning slightly to face his brother. "No... no matter how many time I bring it up... Why doesn't Dad _deny_ it?" Sam started trembling. "Not once, has he apologized or _denied_ anything. And..." Sam started to choke on his own words. "I-I can't just _tell_ him that's w-what I wanna hear... th-then it won't _mean_ anything..."

Once again, Dean had no idea what to say to that. They both sat there for several long minutes, both thinking over what had been said.

Once Sam's breathing was back to normal and he seemed calmer, Dean lightly patted Sam's arm and said, "C'mon. Let's get some lunch."

---

Jim walked into the kitchen and sat across from John, who had his head buried in his hands. "How'd it go?"

John barely lifted his head enough to glare at the pastor.

Jim gave a bitter smile. "That well, huh?"

John sighed, putting his hands calmly on the table. "I don't know what that boy wants from me. He expects me to know and do it, but how am I supposed to know if he won't _tell _me...?"

Jim didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Maybe you should trying looking at it from you son's point of view. Put yourself in his situation. What would _you_ want if you where in his position?"

John scoffed. "I highly doubt me and Sam would have the same needs in _any_ given situation."

Jim shrugged. "It doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

John didn't say anything, but he was thinking over what the pastor had said. _Maybe,_ John thought.

---

It was the first time Sam had been out in public since he had been shot, Dean realized. Which would explain the strange behavior Sam was exhibiting.

As soon at the Impala was parked and they climbed out of the car, Sam was immediately by Dean's side. Well, not _by _Dean's side. Attached to it. Sam was gripping Dean's jacket so tightly his knuckles were turning white. His entire body was practically half an inch away from Dean's, which made walking a little bit of a challenge. His head was bowed down and his body trembling slightly.

And when they were _in_ the restaurant, Sam was practically hiding behind Dean. A hand gripping Dean's sleeve, and a cheek resting on the back of Dean's shoulder. Dean could practically _feel_ Sam's anxiety jump a few notches.

In his head, Dean sighed. _Add this to the list of things to talk to Sam about_.

When they got their table, Sam sat _next_ to Dean instead of across from him, physical contact never breaking. As soon as the waiter had their orders and was gone (Dean had to order for Sam since he refused to talk), Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and shook it a little. "Hey, what's up?"

Sam shook his head, his bangs shadowing his eyes. "Nothing."

Dean almost laughed. "Nothing?! Sam, you haven't been this jittery since... well, ever!"

Sam did a quick scan of the other people in their vicinity, squirming in his seat. "Just not comfortable," he said quietly.

Dean sighed. "Sam," he said equally as quiet. "No one's gonna hurt you."

"I know," Sam said quickly. He gasped in surprise as a waiter walked past. "I think," he said with a strained voice.

Dean started to rubbed Sam's back, careful not to aggravate any of the wounds there. "Well, their _definitely_ not gonna hurt you while _I'm_ here."

Sam gave a weak smile, which trembled into nothingness. "I wanna believe you."

Dean blinked, startled and a little offended by the meaning of that statement. "Sam, is there something you wanna tell me?"

Sam looked up at his brother and frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Sam, why would you think that something might happen to you even if I _was_ here?

Sam's eyes widened. "Th-that's no what I meant!"

"Well, then what did you mean!?"

Sam started to shake as he gripped Dean's jacket hesitently. "D-don't be mad! I swear I didn't mean it like that! I swear! Just pl-lease don't be mad!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sam, I'm not mad!" Dean silently cursed himself for getting aggravated by something so small. He gently wiped the single tear that fell down Sam's face. "I'm not mad."

Sam nodded, still shaken. He looked around at the people nearby again and said, "Can we go?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Why don't you go wait out in the car while I get our food to-go..."

Sam shook his head. Hard. "N-no, I can wait," he said quickly.

Dean slowly nodded, his worry increasing at an unconfortable pace. "Alright."

* * *

**1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.**

**2) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**3) Okay, favor it ask**. **Can you guys watch this, **

**you tube .com / watch?v=4m064pRqqsI&feature= channel_page (obviously getting rid of the spaces)  
**

**and let me know what you think? It's a serious consideration, but I might not...**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**I'm soooooo sorry! But here's an update! hopefully it'll make up for the delay.  
**

**Thank you EVERYBODY for reading this fic! And thank you especially to those who reviewed! **

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter fifteen!**

* * *

Not feeling like going back to the cabin just yet, Dean drove aimlessly around the town.

Sam was silently looking at the window, his expression blank. Dean was sure Sam was embarrassed by how he acted at the restaurant, though he didn't understand why. Given what Sam had gone through, he had every right to be jumpy and nervous around people.

Dying to just start a conversation, Dean said, "How about we find a place to eat this grub, then go see a movie. I think Men in Black is still in theaters..."

Sam shrugged, eyes still glued on the window. "Whatever," he said with a thick voice.

Dean sighed in frustration. "C'mon, Sam. Talk to me! Man, I'm really worried about you."

Sam flinched. "Shouldn't worry about me. I'm -- "

"You say 'I'm fine' and I will kick your ass three ways from Sunday," Dean said with dead-seriousness. "You're always the one that says we need to talk about these things..."

"Well, I was wrong!" Sam turned around to glare at his brother. "Suck it up and move on. Isn't that the Winchester way!?"

"You really think I want to follow the Winchester way after what Dad did to you!?"

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't Dad. He was possessed. Remember?"

"Yeah, and you're still and skittish as hell and practically begging for Dad to say something!"

Sam turned away from the deep sympathy in his brother's eyes. As much as he knew it was wrong, he still didn't feel like he deserved sympathy in any form. "I just want this to be over," Sam murmured. "I just want things to go back to the way they were before and move on." Sam scoffed. "God, I'm so selfish..."

"You're NOT selfish," Dean said. "You are the definition of 'not-selfish.'"

Sam raised an amused eyebrow. "'The definition of 'not-selfish''?"

Dean smiled. "You know what I mean. Sam, you need to stop shooting yourself over this. None of this is your fault. You've done nothing wrong!"

"I shot you," Sam said quietly. "Even though it was an accident, I did it with my hands, without Dad's influence. And I could have killed you."

"Sam -- "

"No," Sam said. "As... wrong... as it was that Dad... hurt me... There was logic behind his reasoning for doing so. And no matter what, I can't deny that logic."

"Just because you disobeyed an order does NOT mean Dad had any right to hurt you!" Dean said angrily.

Sam started to involuntarily tremble at the anger in his brother's voice, even though he knew it wasn't directed at him. "I-I know that. But his intentions were still good."

"No, they weren't!" Dean said, frustrated at his brother's stubbornness. "Dad was trying to fix you! You made _one_ mistake! That doesn't require and completely hardcore training boot camp!" he practically yelled.

Sam trembled harder and bowed his head to hide the tears forming in his eyes. "How many times... have you gotten hurt protecting me?" Sam nodded to himself, convinced of his argument. "Dad was right to try and make me better."

Unable to stand it anymore, Dean pulled the car over and parked it. He turned to Sam to rebuttal, but stopped himself when he saw Sam's shaking shoulders. Holding back his angry tone, Dean said, "I think Dad should try and see you for who you are and what you can do. Not try and mold you into something else."

Sam couldn't hold back his tears anymore. All at once, he broke into sobs, curling into himself. "I-I'm sorry, Dean..."

"The hell you apologizing for?" Dean scolded lightly. He wrapped an arm around his brother and said, "You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. Don't let that spirit or Dad tell you otherwise. _I'm_ the one who's raised you since you were a baby, so _I_ would know, wouldn't I?"

Sam shrugged, not really having a response for that. He leaned into his brother's side, taking comfort in Dean's presence. "W-what the hell's wrong with me...?"

Dean sighed as he rubbed a hand up and down Sam's arm. "Nothing, Sam. There is _nothing_ wrong with you."

---

John paced in the living room. Unable to figure out what exactly his sons wanted, he was feeling incredibly useless and restless. All he really wanted to do was pack up and go back hunting, suddenly in desperate need to shoot something.

But he loved his sons more than anything, and knew he had to resolve things with them before moving on. If only everyone would stop beating around the bush and just tell him what to do...

John sat on the couch and buried his face in his hands. He ran Sam's words through his head over and over again, trying to figure out what Sam wanted.

Even in his head, listening Sam throw his words and actions back against him made him cringe in guilt. All he wanted to do know and tell his son how wrong he was, how much he had failed in his duties as a hunter and a father... but what good would it do? Sam already knew that. How couldn't he?

John sighed. He really needed a drink.

---

Dean and Sam walked out of the theater, Sam leaning close to his brother. Dean went on to comment on the sheer stupidity and awesomeness of the movie, making Sam smile.

As they walked up to the Impala, Dean frowned when he noticed a few teenage punks loitering around his car. "They hell...?" Dean stomped up to them and shouted, "The hell you doing near my car!?"

One of them turned around and smirked at Dean. "This your car? She's a real beauty..." He raised his eyebrows. "Can I have her?"

"Yeah right," Dean scoffed. "I'm giving you one chance to just walk away. Or things are going to get very, very bloody."

The one that spoke before, presumably the leader, smirked and sized up the brothers. "Really think you and the shrimp can take us?"

Dean smirked back before his arm shot out and he hit the arrogant teen in the throat. The teen's eyes widened as he suddenly gasped for breath, but Dean just spun around and kicked in him square in the head.

The others were on them in a second. Sam went into automatic mode, letting his subconscious and muscles completely control him. With the leader down, there were only four teens left. All unexperienced as fighters. An easy fight in the Winchester's book.

If only it didn't end so badly.

Only a few seconds into the fight, and Sam lost it. Something in him snapped and as he turned to do a roundhouse kick, he screamed, almost hysterical.

He hit one of the taller teens in the neck. There was a resounding snap and he fell.

Everyone seemed to freeze as they all stared at the fallen teen. He laid there, a small amount of blood coming out of his nose and his eyes unseeing.

He was dead.

* * *

**1) Okay, cliffy and totally unexpected. Not even i expected but apparently THIS Sam and Dean were heading in this direction.**

**2) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.**

**3) I've never really written Sam like this before, so please give me all feedback and thoughts you have!**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**Hey, I'm alive! XD**

**I'm not sure how much I'll be updating, but I'll try and keep track of all my stories :)  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter sixteen!**

* * *

The leader of the gang got up shakily and looked at his fallen friend on the ground. His gaze snapped up to glare at a shocked Sam. "What the hell kinda freak _are_ you, you bastard!" he shouted, his voice raspy from Dean's abuse.

He advanced on Sam, who was still staring at the body, when Dean stepped between them. "Leave him alone."

"Leave him alone!?! He just _killed_ my best mate! He's no better than any other cold-blooded murderer -- !"

Dean just his arm out, hitting him square in the throat again. This time the teen fell to the ground choking. The others looked at Dean with both anger and fear as they helped they're fallen leader.

Except one of them went to kneel by the fallen body. He just stared at it before he glared at the Winchesters with tears in his eyes. "He was twin brother, you assholes," he said with a quiet anger.

Dean felt Sam stiffen behind him and knew they had to get outta here. Dean flipped open his cell phone and called for an ambulance. Then he grabbed his unresponsive brother and ran to the car.

"We need to get outta here..." Dean mumbled to himself as he turned on the ignition and drove off.

When there were well away from the site of the 'accident', Sam looked at his brother with an unfocused stare. "Dean?" he said quietly.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean said, a little distracted.

"What... What just happened?"

Dean didn't answer for a moment, his grip tightening on his steering wheel. "We'll deal with it later, Sam," Dean said quietly.

Sam nodded, absentminded. He looked out the window into the darkness, his eyes barely able to follow the passing trees.

---

Pastor Jim walked into the living room, covering his nose at the smell of alcohol. "John, have you been _drinking!?_"

John hiccuped and smiled. "Yeah... I should prolly confess before I get sent to hell... hehe..."

Jim yanked the half empty bottle from John's limp hand. "Hell is the least of your worries when _I'm_ here." Jim looked around at the empty bottles strewn across the floor. "Good lord, how many have you _had?_"

John shrugged. "Enough for a _lifetime..._" John smiled. "I feel _great..._"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Drinking is not gonna help you deal with your sons."

John's smile disappeared. "I don' know how to deal with them..."

Jim sighed. He stepped forward and grabbed John by the arm, pulling him into standing position. "Let's go, John. Up the stairs."

"Down came the wind and knocked the Johnny out!" John sang.

"Good lord..."

---

Dean pulled up to the cabin quickly turning off the transmission. "Okay," Dean said. "We need to explain the situation to Jim and get the hell outta dodge."

"What situation?" Sam said quietly.

Dean turned to Sam with an incredulous look. "The fact that we were attacked and there was an accident."

"'An accident,'" Sam repeated. "Dean. I _murdered_ him. I should be going to the police…"

"It was an accident," Dean repeated. "You didn't kill him out of malice or self-gain."

"It's called 'manslaughter,' Dean. And I can go to jail for it."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, well, I'm not gonna let that happen."

"Maybe you should."

"Shut up!" Dean growled. "Don't you ever say anything like that ever again or I swear..."

"What do you swear, Dean?" Sam taunted. "I did something wrong, I should pay for my crime."

Dean hit the steering wheel. "There was no crime, Sam," Dean said with finality. "It was an accident, and you _don't_ deserve to get arrested for it."

"Not according to the law," Sam said quietly.

_That's it. _Dean shoved the car door open, got out of the car, and slammed the door shut. Not giving Sam a second to think, Dean opened the passenger door and yanked Sam out of the car by his shirt. Slamming Sam against the Impala hood, Dean stuck his face mere inches away from his brother's. "Now you listen to me, Sam. You have done _nothing_ wrong. Dad instilled those instincts into you these last six weeks and you acted out of self-defense. But if we get the cops involved, they will take us away from Dad and separate us."

Sam's eyes widened. Apparently that hadn't occurred to him.

"But even that is beside the point. You have suffered hell these last few weeks and this incident is just another drop of oil to the flame. You need to get it through that stubborn, thick skull of your that none of this, _none of this_, was your fault."

Tears were filling Sam's eyes, his body trembling under Dean's grip.

"You understand, Sammy?"

Sam sniffed, giving a slow nod. "I think so," he barely whispered. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You're hurting me."

"Oh sorry!" Dean let go of Sam and let him stand. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded. "Just a little sore."

Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "How's your back?"

Sam shrugged. "It's okay."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Dean smiled. "You understanding me now?"

Sam gave another nod. "I understand… logically. But emotionally… I feel like it's still my fault," Sam mumbled, his tears starting to fall down his face.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'm not expecting you to just be okay. What happened at the theater…"

Sam shrank into himself. "I killed him."

Dean nodded. "I know."

Sam shook his head, more confused than ever. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he said, looking up at his brother with a tearstained face.

Dean gave Sam a reassuring pat. "We'll work through it."

---

Jim sat at the dining room table, waiting for the boys to get home. He wanted to make sure they were safe before he checked everything and went to bed.

The front door opened, and Jim smiled. "'Bout time you boys got back. You're father's passed out…"

"We need to go," Dean said.

Jim frowned. Looking at the brothers, he just noticed Dean's tense stance and Sam's tearstained face. "What happened?" Jim asked worriedly.

"A group of kids attacked us," Dean said. "There was an… accident."

Jim gave Dean a stern look. "What happened?" he said, more harsh this time.

"I guess things got a little out of control and – "

"I killed someone," Sam finished.

Jim's eyes widened. "What?!"

"It was an accident!" Dean said hurriedly. "Sam kicked the guy in the neck and it cracked. Pastor Jim, they attacked us!"

Jim was silent for the moment. He gave the boys very measured looks, thinking through what they told him. "Alright, go pack. Your father's knocked out, drunk, so I'll get him to the truck and drive."

"Need help carrying him?" Dean asked.

"No, you just get the Impala ready."

Dean nodded. Placing a hand on Sam's back, he walked to the stairs.

"Sam."

Sam slowly turned to face Jim. When their eyes met, Jim had to keep himself from taking a sharp intake a breath at the defeated look on Sam's face. "Once we're back at the parish, we need to talk."

Jim could see Sam's eyes cloud with fear, but the boy nodded, turning back to follow his brother up the stairs.

As they disappeared, Jim looked upwards. "Lord Almighty, please give us strength.

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**Sorry for leaving you with the evil cliffy last time. i'll try and update more often now.  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**Remember, this is kinda new territory for me in fictioning, so please tell me ALL your thoughts, including if you think it's awful, (But _constructive_ criticism please.)**

**I'm so sorry for the delay! I've been unbelievably busy!**

**I know, this chapter is kinda short and lame, my muse seems to have disappeared :PP I have to admit though... I think we're finally heading towards the end.  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter seventeen!**

* * *

When they arrived at the Jim's parish, Dean led Sam inside and straight to their room. Sam was half asleep as it was, the stress of the evening and the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. Dean led his brother to the bed, taking his shoes off and pulling the covers over him. Sam fell asleep almost instantly.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. One thing was certain; tomorrow was not going to be a pleasant day. No matter how it went, it would be exhausting and stressful.

Dean cursed his father. He cursed those stupid teens for starting that fight. Hell, he cursed himself for not being able to prevent his brother from being hurt or from killing that man.

Dean fell back into his bed with a sigh. _When will all of this be **over**_**?**

---

For once Sam was in a dreamless sleep, his mind silently working as his body relaxed.

But at some point, a rough hand came to rest on the back of his neck. It disturbed Sam's sleep, making him frown. When another hand was placed on his head and started stroking his hair, Sam moaned and stirred in his bed. "D'n? Wha izzit?"

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyes snapped open. That voice was _much_ too deep to be Dean's. Shooting up into a sitting position, Sam spun around to face...

"Sammy..."

"D-Dad...?" Sam barely breathed. His insides clenched and his throat closed up. "W-w-wh-at d-you w-want?"

John's eyes were obviously red-rimmed, the starlight bright enought to see that. His eyes were glassy and he smelled strongly of alcohol. "God, what have I done to you?" John said wetly. He extended a hand to touch his son's face, but Sam flinched back. John laughed. "God..." he choked out. "I know it was that... _thing_, but spectral infections are fueled. _I_ fueled," John said miserably, a bitter laugh escaping him again.

Sam frowned. "Dad," Sam forced out of his stiffened body. "You're drunk. You should be in bed."

John shook his head. "Things I did..." John sighed. "You didn't even _shoot_ Dean..."

Sam's eyes widened. His chest and throat constricted again. "W... What?"

"We both shot," John laughed. "You got the werewolf, I got Dean."

A tear fell unheaded down Sam's face. He stared at his father in disbelief, the new revelation quite literally knocking the words out of him.

"Then I got that damned infection... fed off my guilt and denial." John shook his head. "Didn't wanna believe that I could shoot my own son." John looked at Sam with tear-filled eyes. "You were the easied target."

Sam was just on this edge of sobbing, untold emotion bursting in his chest. "Then..." Sam swallowed hard, trying to force his words out. "E-everything you d-did..."

John raised his hand again. This time Sam didn't move as his father rested his hand on his cheek. A sob escaped John. "I'm am _so_ sorry... For _everything_. I don't deserve..." John bit his lip, tears falling down his face. "I love you, Sam. God, I love you so much..."

Sam looked at his father incredulously, tears falling down his face in torrents. "Dad..." Sam squeaked.

John shook his head. He took his hand away from Sam's cheek and stood, stumbling out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Sam sat on his bed, stunned. Not knowing how to process it all, Sam layed back down on the bed, his eyes wide in shock. But soon after he pulled up his covers, he fell back into a dreamless sleep, wondering if he had just dreamed what had happened with John.

---

"I'm at the end of my rope," Dean said tiredly. He was sitting in the kitchen with Pastor Jim. It was nearly two in the morning but Dean was in no mood to sleep and John didn't want to leave the youngm man alone.

"I can imagine," Jim said, passing him a warm mug of milk. "This _will_ help you sleep."

Dean gave a sideways grin as he accepted the mug and took a swig. Dean smiled tiredly. "With alcohol?"

Jim chuckled. "It should help."

Dean shrugged and sighed. His expression turning back to serious, "Not only has Dad beat the shit out of him and screwed with his mind, now he's accidentally killed someone. I mean... what the hell am I supposed to do now?!"

"Dean." Jim placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You will do what you do best. Take care of your brother."

"But _how_? After all this, how is he supposed to recover?"

Jim smiled. "That's what I'm here for. To help. To be completely honestly, I don't think Sam will every fully recover. This will be with him for the rest of his life. But we can get him to the point where he can function in the normal world perfectly fine. Which is what is most important."

Dean nodded. He rested his forehead on the side of the table and blew out a deep sigh. "God..."

There was a loud thump from the second floor, causing the two men's heads to shoot up. Barely giving each other a glance, they ran up the stairs, Dean running to where Sam was sleeping, Jim to where John was.

Dean threw the door open and ran inside. "Sammy -- !"

Sam was asleep, apparently peaceful. Dean sighed in relief, which was very short lived.

"_John! What the hell are you doing!?!?"_

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**ugh... another cliffy. not an evil cliffy but still... I hope this holds you over until next time...  
**

**PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?**

**It's official. I SUCK AT ENDINGS! I know this ending may seem a little abrupt, but it's where the story seemed to lead. Honestly, I think anything else I might have written would have been written poorly and simply would have bored you.**

**Thank you all you loyal readers and reviewers! I simply cannot express my gratitude for your support! I hope you enjoyed the ride :)**

**So here's the end. I hope it doesn't disappoint too much :P  
**

**Sam is 13, Dean is 18  
**

**Enjoy chapter eighteen!**

* * *

Dean ran to where his father was supposed to be sleeping to find John sitting listless on the floor, looking at nothing. Jim was standing over him, breathing heavily.

"Killing yourself isn't going to solve anything, John," Jim said. Dean's eyes widened as Jim tossed John's pistol to the side with disgust. "You can't just run away from this."

John giggled. "I don't have a right to live..."

"You don't have the right to leave us with this mess!" Jim growled. "Suicide is a sin for a reason, John. It's selfish and hurts everyone around you."

Dean picked up John's pistol, staring at it. "Dad..." he said quietly. "You weren't seriously gonna shoot yourself... were you?"

John avoided his son's eyes. "Dean..."

Dean let out a sarcastic laugh. His eyes shown with tears as he glared at his father. "And, um... what exactly were you expecting me and Sam to do after that?" Dean scoffed, unaware of the tear running down his face. "You were just gonna... turn us into orphans. 'Cause would _really_ be a _fantastic_ end to these last couple of months, don't ya think?"

"Dean..." John begged.

"I mean," Dean swallowed hard. "It's not like... _Sam_ wouldn't _blame_ himself. Oh no, Sam _never_ blames himself. It's not like watching _one_ parent die was enough, oh no... let's make it a complete _**set****!**_"Dean looked out into space, as if imagining a picture. "Here Lies John Winchester. He didn't have enough balls to deal with the consequences of his own actions. Orphaning his children was much easier than he _thought!!__"  
_  
"Dean, _please_..."

Dean swung out with his arm, slamming the pistol's barrel into John's face, knocking him back against the wall. "You're a fucking bastard," Dean mumbled. And with this, he dropped the pistol and left the room.

John held a hand against the spot where Dean hit him. A deep gash was slowly leaking out blood, but it was the least of his concerns at the moment.

Jim sighed as he picked up the pistol. "John--"

"I know," John said. "God... I know."

"Tough," Jim said, pulling up a chair so he could sit in front of the broken man. "'Cause I'm going to tell you again. Maybe this time it'll sink through that thick skull of yours."

"You're not gonna say anything I haven't already heard, so--"

Jim looked up at the ceiling. _Lord, forgive me._ He looked back down at John. "For all intents and purposes, John, shut the hell up and listen to me."

---

When Dean stormed out of the room, he suddenly stopped when he saw Sam leaning against the frame of his doorway. "Sammy..."

"I heard everything," Sam said.

"Oh." Whatelse could Dean say?

They stood there for a moment, listening to Jim's muffled voice, before Sam walked up to Dean and hugged him.

While these hugs haven't been an uncommon occurance as of late, it still took Dean by surprise. "Sam...?"

"I didn't do it," Sam said, his voice muffled in Dean's shoulder.

Dean frowned. "Didn't do what?"

Sam stepped back, his face shining with fresh tears and a bright smile. "I didn't shoot you."

Dean blinked, not quite understanding what Sam was saying. "What do you--?"

"Dad did. I got the werewolf. Dad was just guilty. And the spectral infection fed off that guilt." Sam laughed happily. "I didn't almost kill you... I didn't screw up..." Sam closed his eyes. "_God_ I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off me..."

Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, still in a state of shock.

_Has... has Sam just turned a corner?_

**Three months later**

Sam was sitting in one of the pews of Jim's church. He wasn't praying at the moment, merely in deep thought.

The church was dark and empty. This was how Sam liked it best. Before, he didn't really mind being with people. But ever since his infected father abused him and he accidentally killed that man, Sam was uneasy being with other people.

When Sam thought back about the abuse and the traumas, he thought of them very candidly. Even when he spoke of them aloud, he did so nonchalantly, often making everyone around him a little uncomfortable. Not that that was how Sam truly felt about those memories. But Sam figured if he started acting that way, eventually it'll be how he truly felt.

He still wakes up in the middle of the night, stuck in the throes of a nightmare. But Dean was always there, reassuring him, telling him everything was alright. Sam talks to Dean everyday, telling him exactly how he feels, about everything that happened. He hoped that it'll all add up, one day, to permanently moving on. On rare occasions, Sam would break into sobs, Dean wrapping his arms around him and whispering nonsensical reassurances.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam turned his head and smiled. "Hey, Dad."

John sat next to his son, leaning backwards with a sigh. "I think we're gonna head out soon."

"Mmm," was Sam's only response.

"I think I found a hunt a couple states over. Poltergeist."

Sam nodded. He had been expecting this.

See, Sam and John have had _several_ long talks together. In fact, their relationship has incredibly deepened since this who thing started. They were candid with each other and understood each other on a deeper level now. They've even gone back to having the occasional fight.

John looked at his son carefully, trying to gauge his response. "Son? Are you alright?"

Sam just shrugged. "It's life."

* * *

**Thanks again to all of ya'll! Please review to leave any last thoughts :)  
**


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